Ghost of A Chance
by callensensei
Summary: Gilligan accidentally awakens a vengeful pirate ghost, and later, an equally supernatural ally
1. Chapter 1

"**Ghost of A Chance"**

"_When you live on a haunted island, anything can happen."_

_--Gilligan, "Ghost A Go Go"_

Sunset was always swift on the uncharted desert isle. Under the gold and lavender sky the mountains loomed like great shadows and the supple palms swayed in the faint breeze.

Deep in the jungle the Skipper, the Professor and Gilligan were lighting four tiki torches at the corners of a clearing. In the centre of the clearing was a wide, four foot deep pit flanked by a mound of fresh earth and three bamboo shovels. A tall native totem pole stood near the edge of the jungle, carven faces snarling.

The Skipper sat down on a large rock and took a grateful drink from the gourd at his feet. "Wow! Heh, heh. Not bad for a day's work! A little bit more digging and we'll probably reach China!"

Gilligan turned. "Really, Skipper?"

The Skipper sighed and rolled his eyes, perpetually amazed by his first mate's logic. "No, Gilligan. Not really."

From where he was examining a native pot, the Professor smiled without looking up. "It's called hyperbole, Gilligan."

"Well, whatever the place is called, how long do you think it'll take us to get there? I mean with the three of us digging – and maybe we could get Mr. Howell and the girls to take a turn—"

"Gilligan, you're a booby!"

Gilligan's face fell. "Well, maybe you're right, Skipper. Mr. Howell would say, 'Good heavens, a Howell to do manual labour? I mean really!'"

"Gilligan, that wasn't what I—"

"And besides, none of us speaks Chinese. How would we tell the people there we wanted to go back to the United States?"

The Skipper replaced the cap on the gourd and stood up. "Gilligan, you'd confuse them even if they spoke the Queen's English! I was just kidding! We're nowhere near China!"

"Well, what about the Hyperboles? Aren't they near Australia?"

The Professor set the pot near a pile of carefully wrapped native artifacts and strolled over. "Hyperbole simply means exaggeration, Gilligan. But it's no exaggeration that this is one of the greatest discoveries you've made on the island. We've found all kinds of useful pottery and primitive tools, and we'll be able to learn a great deal about the tribes that once lived here. I'm convinced this midden will prove a gold mine to us."

Gilligan frowned down at the pit. "Goldmine? I though you said a midden was a garbage dump, Professor."

"It is. But you see, Gilligan, you can learn all sorts of things about a person by examining his garbage."

The Skipper picked up two shovels and walked over. "Say, I guess that's true," he laughed. "A man with cigarette butts in his garbage must be a smoker, or a man with empty rum bottles must be a drinker!"

"And a man with as many coconut cream pie crusts as we have in our garbage must be a—"

"Gilligan…" came the warning growl.

"Gourmet," Gilligan finished, smiling nervously. He flinched as the Skipper thrust a shovel at him and pointed sternly into the pit.

"Dig," said the Skipper.

Gilligan jumped in, followed moments later by the Skipper. The old sea dog looked about them. "It'll be full dark in a few minutes. We'd better finish up soon, fellas."

"It gets dark here so fast," murmured Gilligan. "Like somebody didn't pay the electric bill. It's kinda spooky."

"It's simply due to our proximity to the equator, Gilligan," said the Professor, smiling. "Twilight is a result of the refraction of the sun's rays. The more obliquely the rays strike the earth, the further the light extends. Where we are, the rays strike at the perpendicular, and when the sun sinks, the effect is total darkness. There's nothing spooky about it."

Gilligan looked up at the dark clouds massing. "I hope the ghosts know that."

The crew bent their backs to the job of digging while the Professor began packing the wrapped artifacts into wooden crates. Around them the shadows deepened as the dark jungle rustled and whispered. In the torch flame the native totem glowered fiercely.

Gilligan's shovel suddenly struck something solid. He tapped at it for a few moments, then knelt down and brushed at the dirt. "Skipper? Professor? There's something metal down here!"

The Skipper and the Professor came over to watch as Gilligan scrabbled in the dirt with his fingers. After a few minutes he pried out a long, slightly curved blade with a basket hilt and held it up, brushing it off. "It's some kind of sword!" exclaimed Gilligan.

The Skipper was impressed. "It's not just a sword, little buddy! It's a cutlass! A sailor's cutlass!"

The Professor had leapt into the pit by now and reached out a hand to touch the blade. "You're right, Skipper! Looks like mid-to-late eighteenth-century to me—Spanish steel and Toledo workmanship, if I'm not mistaken. And what a splendid state of preservation it's in! The oxidants in the soil have hardly touched it in two hundred years!"

Gilligan rubbed the dirt from the hilt and gasped. "Skipper, Professor, look!"

There on the basket hilt, wrought in iron, was the unmistakable sign of the skull and crossbones. "It's a pirate's sword! A real live pirate's sword! Right here on the island! Wow! You know, one of my ancestors fought pirates, Skipper!" Gilligan grinned and his eyes gleamed as he slashed the cutlass to and fro. "Take that, you scurvy swab! And that!"

"Careful with that thing, Gilligan," the Professor urged as he and the Skipper jumped back. "It's not a toy."

"You'll all hang from the yard-arm!" sang Gilligan, swinging the heavy blade in a figure-eight. "No more to roam the Spanish Main! Yikes!" He flinched as he dropped the sword and nearly lopped off his thumb.

"Little buddy, stop playing with that thing before you hurt yourself, and that's an order! And for your information, the Spanish Main was in the Caribbean, Gilligan. You're in the wrong ocean!"

"No I'm not, Skipper, he is! I mean, he was. His sword's here, isn't it?"

The Skipper raised his eyebrows and scratched his head under his captain's hat. "Well, you've got a point there. It's a pirate's sword, all right. Come to think of it, there were European ships in these waters about two hundred years ago: Captain Bligh, Captain Cook…maybe the pirates made it here too. Say, we did find that chest of cannonballs that one time, and it must have come off a ship. Maybe it was a pirate ship! And where there's a pirate ship, there's—"

"Treasure!" the three men shouted in unison, and dropped to their haunches to dig furiously.

After a moment the Professor unearthed a strange looking bamboo implement that looked like a garden weeder, and held it gingerly. "What's that, Professor?" asked Gilligan. "Looks like some kind of rake."

The Skipper, eyeing the implement, swallowed nervously. "Oh, my gosh! I saw those in a museum in Fiji. Boy, am I glad the tribe that made this isn't here now!"

"Why?" asked Gilligan. "Would they be mad because we've ripped up their garden?"

"It isn't a gardening tool, Gilligan," the Professor murmured. "It's a fork."

"A fork? What in the world would you eat with that?" Gilligan picked at some dull white objects peeping out of the dirt. "Oh, wait, I get it. Look at all these bones! Looks like they had a barbecue here…maybe that's what they used these forks for." He fingered part of a rib. "But that's funny. There's no animals on the island with ribs this big. And what's this?"

The Skipper and the Professor stared as Gilligan dug 'round a bowling-ball sized white object in the earth. He pulled it loose, shook the dirt from it, and gasped in horror.

In his trembling hands Gilligan held a human skull. The left eye socket was badly damaged, while above it the dome had been sliced off so that it resembled a bowl. "P-p-professor!"

The Professor dipped the wide pronged fork neatly into the top of the skull and let it rest. "That's what they used the fork for, Gilligan," he said quietly.

"Ah-ah-ah-ugh!" Gilligan's nervous fingers jiggled the skull until he dropped it in revulsion and dragged his fingers across his shirt. "Professor, I don't think we need any more garbage from this dump! Let's get out of here!" He was scrambling out of the pit like a gopher when the Professor caught his shirt.

"Gilligan!" he said soothingly, hanging on until the panicked young sailor finally turned around. "Gilligan, it's all right. There's nothing to be afraid of. This tribe is long gone by now and that poor fellow's been dead for hundreds of years. I didn't mean to upset you. Take it easy now." He released Gilligan and turned to the Skipper. "Skipper, Gilligan's right. We've got all we need for today. Why don't we head back to camp? The others will be getting anxious."

The Skipper nodded. "Right, Professor. Come on, Gilligan. We can finish this up tomorrow. Let's get going." With an effort he pulled himself out of the pit while the two slimmer men scrambled out more quickly. They loaded up the crates and were about to leave when the Skipper suddenly stopped. "Wait a minute! We can't go yet!"

"Why not?" asked the Professor.

"We can't leave an open pit like this all night. One of the others might fall in and hurt themselves."

The Professor scowled. "Hmmm. You're right; I hadn't thought of that. It's unlikely anyone would come out here tonight, but just in case anyone takes an early stroll tomorrow morning, it's best to be on the safe side."

"We're not going to fill in the whole pit?!" protested Gilligan, who wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

"No, no, little buddy. All you have to do is take the tiki torches and plant them in the middle. That way, anybody who comes along will see them before they reach the edge of the pit, and then they'll be safe."

Gilligan looked down at the barbecue pit with horror. "Me? Why me? Why do I have to do it?"

"Gilligan, these crates are too heavy for you to manage, and we want to get going before the others start to worry. Besides, you're pretty handy at climbing in and out of that pit. It won't take you long. We won't go too far ahead. Just follow the trail and you'll be fine."

"What? You mean you're not going to wait for me?" Gilligan yelped.

The Skipper smiled indulgently. "Gilligan, didn't you hear what the Professor said? Any danger that was here is long gone, and you know I'd never leave you here alone otherwise. And you've got your cutlass! Just run 'em through! Hang 'em from the yard arm! Ha, ha. See you in a few minutes, little buddy." With a chuckle, he and the Professor turned and disappeared into the jungle.

Gilligan stared longingly after them. He loved the island, but he loved night on the island better when he wasn't by himself. He sighed, frowned, and hitched up his shoulders. "Move the tiki torches, Gilligan," he muttered. "We won't get far." Hurrying over, he gripped one of the torches and grunted as he pried it loose from the ground. Quickly he carried it over to the pit, jumped down, and thrust it into the soft earth. As he climbed out to get the next torch he glanced toward the jungle.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed what seemed like a tall figure looming on the edge of the torchlight and started in terror before he realized it was the totem pole. Gilligan flinched at the weird faces grimacing wickedly at him. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered. "You're not getting me to stay for dinner." He moved quickly to replace the second and third torches, careful to avoid looking at the totem as he scurried back and forth.

He was about to climb out of the pit to grab the fourth when he saw the cutlass blade gleaming in the torchlight and bent to pick it up. "Oh yeah—better not forget you! You're the one lucky thing to come out of here!" He took a quick step backwards to admire it better.

C-c-c-crack! The young first mate gulped and looked down. There beneath his foot lay a pile of white shards where the skull had been. He crouched down, aghast.

"Gee, I'm sorry, mister! Looks like you lost your head all over again!"

With a cold whoosh, the torches above him went out. Gilligan froze, heart pounding, suddenly aware that he was not alone.

Then very near him a deep, guttural voice intoned, "Lost me head have I, Lord Gilligan? Well then – You'll be losing yours!"

Gilligan didn't even see the blow coming. Adrenalin and raw instinct hurled him over the sand as something swept down where his neck had been. He scrambled on all fours, still clutching the cutlass. "Skipper!" he shrieked.

"Stand still, ye high born bilge rat!" the booming voice shouted. "Ye damned dancing master! Stand and fight me, Gilligan!"

Gilligan vaulted to the edge of the pit and sprang over the edge as he heard another whoosh behind him. "Who are you?" he screamed. "H-how do you know my name?"

Impossibly, his pursuer had actually beaten him to the surface and now stood beneath the last torch that was still topside. At last Gilligan saw him: not in the light of the torch, for that had blown out too, but in the light of a pale, eerie glow that seemed to emanate from the figure itself. It was a tall, burly man, arms akimbo, grinning a wicked, gap-toothed grin. A three cornered hat was perched on top of a cruel, wild-haired, wild-bearded face that sported one dark, glinting eye and a patch where the left eye should have been. A wide-cuffed, wide-skirted coat was pulled back to reveal an array of knives and ancient pistols tucked into a deep belt. "Aaarh," he snarled.

It did not take a professor to realize what he was.

The apparition leered at Gilligan. "What ails ye, scum? Have ye forgot the witchdoctor and his curse, when the heathens on this forsaken isle ye chased me to made this me last port of call? Ye sent me here, Lord Gilligan, and now I'll send ye to hell!"

The figure started forward, but Gilligan was already flying down the path, shooting past breaking branches and screaming for the Skipper in all-out panic.


	2. Chapter 2

Silver moonlight lit the trail as the Professor and the Skipper carried the crates through the chirping, whistling jungle. "Be careful, Skipper," the Professor cautioned. "Many of these artefacts are fragile and all of them are absolutely irreplaceable."

"I guessed that. That's why I didn't let Gilligan carry them." The two men chuckled. "And speaking of Gilligan, maybe we'd better slow it down a bit, Professor. I don't want my little buddy to get lost."

They paused and listened. The Professor frowned. "Skipper, did you hear that?"

From far off came faint, frantic cries that were all too familiar. "Skipper! _Skippererer_!"

The Skipper tensed, ready to act. "Gilligan! We're up here, little buddy! What is it? What's wrong?"

"Skipper, help! He's trying to kill me, Skipper!"

The Skipper and the Professor stood transfixed, squinting into the gloom, as Gilligan came hurtling down the trail like a runaway train. Desperate to hide, he dropped the cutlass and flung himself at the Skipper with such force that the big sailor spun off balance and crashed into the professor. Both men instinctively threw out their arms, and watched in despair as the crates sailed through the air and smashed on the ground.

"Gilligan - those artefacts were priceless!" the Professor groaned, tearing at his hair.

Meanwhile, the Skipper was trying to disentangle his manic first mate from around his neck. "Safe in the ground for hundreds of years - until Gilligan found them! Gilligan, what on earth has gotten into you? Will you calm down?"

Gilligan was almost trying to climb the other man like a tree. As he stared, wild-eyed back down the trail, he babbled, "Pie--pie--the p-p-p-he's coming, Skipper! Help me!"

The Skipper, nearly choking, finally managed to wrestle Gilligan's arms from his neck. He grabbed one flailing arm firmly while the Professor grabbed the other. Both men were amazed at the panic-driven energy in Gilligan's wiry frame.

"Gilligan, what is the matter with you?" yelled the Professor. "What is so important that it's cost us our whole day's work and years worth of study?"

Gilligan's lips finally framed the words. "P-pirate! Pirate ghost! Back there! H-he tried to cut my head off!"

"A ghost? A pirate ghost?" The Skipper rolled his eyes and shook Gilligan. "Of all the--you mean you came crashing in here like this because you were afraid of your own shadow?"

"No! I'm not afraid of my shadow! My shadow doesn't have a great big sword! My shadow doesn't have an eye patch and a beard and ten pistols in his belt!"

The Professor gripped Gilligan's shoulders and tried to keep his own voice calm. "Gilligan, Gilligan, listen to me. I have told you time and time again that there are no such things as ghosts. They are figments of your imagination."

"He wasn't a fragment, he was the whole thing, boots and hat and all, and he knew my name and said it was my fault the cannibals ate him, and then he tried to--"

"Gilligan!" The Professor's voice was still soothing. "He knew your name because you internalized and anthropomorphosized your anxieties until they became a subconscious projection. Do you understand?"

"What?? And the Skipper says _I_ can't speak the Queen's English!"

"Oh, Gilligan! It's perfectly clear! The Professor's saying that--" the Skipper paused, shaking his head a little. "Come to think of it, Professor, that was a little heavy on the syllables for me too. Could you maybe water it down a bit?"

The Professor nodded. "Look, Gilligan, if some real enemy were pursuing you, where is he? Why didn't he follow you up the trail?"

The Skipper nodded encouragingly as Gilligan looked back, breathing heavily. He seemed to relax a little as he saw no sign of any danger on the moonlit path.

The Professor continued in his soothing, rational tones. "You know yourself that you have a powerful imagination. You had pirates and headhunters on your mind: both disturbing subjects. It was dark, you were alone, and your imagination took over. You dreamt him up, Gilligan. That's all."

Gilligan hesitated a moment. "Are you sure, Professor?" He sounded as though he desperately wanted to believe it.

"I'm sure."

"Well then how come when I dream about Raquel Welch in a towel, she doesn't come and chase me around the clearing?"

The Skipper and the Professor both laughed. "At the speed you were going, little buddy, you probably outran her too!"

Even Gilligan managed a smile at that. He blushed and, looking down, caught sight of the cutlass. "Oh! That's the second time I nearly forgot it!" He quickly picked it up and brushed it off.

"What do you want that for, Gilligan?"

"Self-defense!" Gilligan said emphatically. "Just in case the next pirate or cannibal I meet isn't a dream!"

The Skipper shook his head and patted Gilligan's shoulder. "Come on, little buddy. Let's get back to camp."

At his friends' urging Gilligan allowed himself to be lead up the trail, trying not to cast nervous glances behind him.

*************************

The sun had topped the mountains and was flooding the island in glorious colour when the Skipper emerged from his hut, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Mary Ann set a plate of pancakes in front of him as he sat down with the others at the breakfast table. "Skipper, you look exhausted! Here, let me get you some fresh coffee."

The Skipper rubbed his eyes again and smiled. "Thanks, Mary Ann. Say, what's this? Whipped cream on the pancakes?"

"Mary Ann's prepared crepes this morning. Isn't it wonderful?" gushed Mrs. Howell.

"Yes, Mary Ann, they're delicious!" said her husband. "So light and fluffy you'd think there was nothing inside them but air! Speaking of which...how's our little first mate's head doing this morning, Skipper?

The Skipper flashed him a look. "Very funny, Howell. He's still asleep. Boy, Professor, that concoction you brewed up for him last night really did the trick. I don't think he'd have closed his eyes for a minute otherwise."

"It was just a sedative, Skipper. It should wear off any time now."

Mary Ann brought the steaming pot of coffee from the campfire. "The Professor was telling us about what happened, Skipper. Poor Gilligan! All this started just because he found a pirate's sword?"

"Yes. The next thing we knew, my little buddy was convinced he'd seen a pirate's ghost!"

"By George, what a pity he couldn't have conjured up a galleon as well!" quipped Mr. Howell. "We could have weighed anchor and sailed for home!"

"Oh, Thurston, darling, don't make fun," Mrs. Howell reproached him.

"Sorry, Lovey."

"We'd never have set foot on a galleon. Far too stuffy and filled with nasty little mice. We'd have had to wait until they sent back a yacht."

"Oh, absolutely, my dear."

The Skipper rolled his eyes and ignored them. "Professor, I'm kind of worried about him. I mean, I know my little buddy's got an overactive imagination, but to dream up something in that kind of detail! I'm beginning to think he's been on the island too long!"

"Now, now, Skipper," said the Professor, "as I explained last night, there is a perfectly valid psychological explanation for what happened to Gilligan last night. He's not losing his mind, I assure you."

"Well, should we humour him about it? Or should we set him straight?"

"I'll handle it, Skipper. I don't profess to be a psychiatrist, but I do hold a Master's Degree in psychology. Just leave it to me."

"Don't look now," said Ginger. "Here he comes!"

The door to the crew's hut swung open and the first mate appeared, hopping hurriedly as he tied his shoelace. "Hi, everybody. Sorry I slept in, Mary Ann!"

Mary Ann smiled at him. "Oh, that's all right, Gilligan. Sit right here, next to the Skipper."

He smiled back at her. "Thanks, Mary Ann!" and forgot to look which way he was hopping. He hopped sideways, toppled over, and would have crashed into the table, had the Skipper not jumped up and caught him.

"Doop! Steady as she goes, there, Gilligan!"

They swung 'round wildly for a moment, before the Skipper slung Gilligan safely onto the bench.

Mr. Howell drew back, disapproving. "Egad, Lovey. I haven't seen such behaviour since the cocktail hour at the Oyster Bay yacht club!"

"And even then you waited until six o'clock, Thurston dear."

The Skipper resumed his place, sighing in exasperation. "Gilligan, don't weigh anchor until you've checked that all your rigging is secure! And that's an order!"

Gilligan grabbed the table to steady himself, looking a bit sheepish. "Aye-aye, sir...sorry, everbody."

Mary Ann appeared, with a fresh plate of pan cakes. "Here you go, Gilligan. You must be hungry, what will all the work you three did yesterday evening. The Professor told us you found some really interesting things."

The first mate shivered. "Yeah, we found some interesting things, all right."

"And I was able to salvage most of those artefacts, Gilligan, so there was no harm done," added the Professor.

"Oh...oh, that's good." But Gilligan didn't look relieved at all.

At a surreptitious nod from the Professor, the Skipper cleared his throat. "Now I want you to listen carefully, little buddy. The Professor has something very important to explain to you."

Gilligan raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? It's not the birds and the bees again, is it, Skipper? I thought you were going to tell me about that."

The Skipper coughed, embarrassed. "No, Gilligan, not the birds and the bees-"

"Well, if you'd rather have the Professor explain it, that's okay with me," said Gilligan affably. "He probably knows way more about it than you do."

"Gilligan, I'll have you know I know plenty about the birds and the bees! Why, when I was in the Navy I - ep - ep - " The Skipper sputtered to a stop as he remembered the presence of the ladies. "Oh, hurry up and tell him, Professor!"

The Professor assumed his most calming, reassuring voice. "Gilligan, I simply wanted to reiterate what I said to you last night: that you did not witness a manifestation of the supernatural."

"I know that, Professor. I witnessed a ghost. A pirate ghost!"

"Gilligan! Pipe down and let the Professor explain!"

Gilligan winced. "Aye-aye, sir."

"Gilligan, I'm not trying to tell you that you didn't _see_ a ghost. I think you probably did."

The Professor was completely in earnest. The other castaways gasped and looked at each other in consternation. Gilligan drew back as if bitten. "I did?" he squeaked.

"Yes. But I'm also trying to tell you that there are no such things as ghosts, and there was no ghost there for you to see."

Gilligan shook his head, flummoxed. "Professor, I know you and the Skipper tried to explain it to me last night, but either the island is haunted, or I'm going crazy! That's some choice!"

"Now, Gilligan, neither of those alternatives is the case. What happened to you last night was perfectly predictable, and I blame myself for allowing it to happen. I should have realized that leaving you alone in the jungle might cause you to succumb to the Wendigo Syndrome."

"The Wendigo Syndrome?" said Gilligan. "What's that, Professor? Sounds like a new dance."

"Or good name for an Alfred Hitchcock movie," said Ginger.

"Well, you wouldn't be far off, Ginger," the Professor replied. "The Wendigo comes from the mythology of our native Indians. They believed it was a terrible monster in the forest that drove men mad with fear. It was their way of explaining how such an environment, especially a nocturnal one, can make us so hypersensitive to stimuli that we create illusory phenomena."

The Skipper blinked. "Come again, Professor?"

"It's really very simple, Skipper. It has to do with the fact that we are a diurnal mammalian species."

Mrs. Howell frowned. "I don't know about the rest of you, Professor, but Thurston and myself are Episcopalian."

"Not to mention Republican," her husband added.

"Dad told us we were Irish American," said Gilligan.

The Professor cut in before anyone else could. "Diurnal means that we are active in daylight, and sleep at night. Human beings feel much safer in daylight because we process the majority of our information through vision, and we especially depend on our eyes to warn us of danger. In the dark, we know we've lost our best advantage. And a dark forest is especially frightening, because it can hide many predators. Even if there is no danger, our ancient survival instincts can cause our imagination to overact to the point that we are literally afraid of our own shadow."

Mary Ann nodded in understanding. "So that's what happened to Gilligan? He was alone in the jungle at night and started seeing things?"

The Professor nodded. "Yes. There have been similar cases all over the world, from Scandinavia to Japan. So you see, Gilligan, you're not becoming unhinged, and you didn't see a monster. You just overreacted to some very frightening surroundings."

"Oh." Gilligan said slowly. "So I just...scared myself, is that all?"

"Sure, little buddy," beamed the Skipper. "But now with all of us here on this beautiful sunny morning, you can see it was just your imagination, can't you?"

Gilligan looked around at the brilliant sky, the gently fanning palms, the blue-green mountains in the distance, and then back at the bountiful table and smiling faces of his friends. The terrors of the night before seemed to fade into a dream.

"I guess you're right, Skipper," Gilligan relaxed at last. He hefted a jug of mango juice as though to pour a toast. "Don't worry, everybody. No more pirates for me!"

He started to pour the juice into his cup when a deep, dreadfully familiar voice snarled, "_Sure, I wouldn't be bettin' me life on that!" _

Gilligan froze. He was afraid to move, let alone look up. Juice sloshed over the rim of the brimming cup and splashed onto the table.

"Gilligan, my boy, your cup runneth over," Mr. Howell remarked, frowning slightly.

The Skipper steadied the jug before his pant leg got drenched. "Gilligan! What are you trying to do, float a boat in there?"

_"Look at me, ye cowardly dog!"_

At last Gilligan looked up, eyes saucering, at the tall, terrible shape of the ghostly buccaneer glowering down at him from right behind the Skipper's chair.


	3. Chapter 3

And somehow the ghost was all the worse for being in broad daylight. He was bigger, for a start: easily as tall as the Skipper himself, and almost as broad. And the details were even clearer: the pale, pockmarked skin, the glinting eye beside the gleaming patch, the wild black hair knotted with a bizarre collection of beads and bits of bone. The fact that he didn't seem to glow by daylight didn't make him much less terrifying. The long, vicious cutlass, identical to Gilligan's own, _certainly_ didn't.

The Skipper saw the terrified expression on his first mate's face. "Gilligan, little buddy! What is it? You look as though you'd seen a ghost!"

The ghost hissed, gap toothed mouth wide. "Not as dull as he looks, is he, Lord Gilligan?"

"P-p-p...p-p-p..." Gilligan stammered, hands frozen on the jug.

They were all staring at him now. "Professor, what's happening to him?" gasped Ginger.

"What is it, Gilligan?" cried Mary Ann.

"How do you know my _name?_" whimpered Gilligan.

The Skipper blinked. Gilligan, we've been here four years! Of course she knows your name! What's the matter with you?"

He hunched over the table to put a steadying hand on Gilligan's shoulder. Behind him, the pirate's sword arced high above the Skipper's head. "Here's one less hand on deck, Lord Gilligan!"

Instinctively Gilligan hurled the contents of the pitcher at the ghost's face - and hit the Skipper square amidships. The Skipper sputtered, shaking mango juice from his eyes and bangs. "Gilligan - what's got into you?"

"It's the pirate! Get down, Skipper!" Gilligan screamed, and with manic strength, pushed the Skipper down face first into the banana cream just as the ghostly sword whooshed over them. With the struggling Skipper still shouting muffled threats into his breakfast, Gilligan vaulted onto the table, scattering plates and cups.

The others were all on their feet now. Mrs. Howell clutched her husband. "Thurston, the boy's gone island happy!"

The girls were screaming. "Gilligan, what are you doing!"

The Professor was trying hard to establish some order. "Calm down, everyone! Gilligan! There is nothing there! Come down from that table before you hurt yourself!"

But the apparition was stalking 'round the table now, towards the women. "What rare beauties, milord!" it leered, seeing Ginger and Mary Anne. "I'll drag the wenches by their fine hair back to me ship!"

"You don't _touch_ the girls! Get away from them!" Gilligan fiercely flung a bowl of guava jelly at the phantom. The bowl sailed through the ghost, but the spin on Gilligan's wrist sent the great gob of pink jelly flying into Ginger's hair.

"Ugh! _Gilligan_! Have you lost your mind?"

"And what might that grand dame and her man be wearin'? Be those diamonds? Be that gold? By the powers, Lord Gilligan, ye've some fancy friends at your board!"

"Look out, Mr. and Mrs. Howell!" Gilligan sprang backwards off the table, landed on the bench, and bent down to whip the table-cloth in the air, sending fruit and dishes flying. Everybody screamed and ducked.

"Now hear this!" the Skipper roared. "Gilligan, calm down and that's an order!"

Gilligan twirled the tablecloth over his head like a matador's cape and heaved it at the ghost, whose pale fingers were caressing Mrs. Howell's necklace. The cloth billowed over the howling Howells as the ghost stepped nimbly backwards.

The Skipper had clambered up onto the bench by now. "Gilligan, I order you to -" But he didn't have Gilligan's balance, and the two sailors yelled as the bench suddenly tipped over backwards, sending them sprawling on their backs.

The ghost leapt up onto the table, laughing cruelly. His greasy black hair swung 'round his scarred face as he hefted his sword. "Har! Who's this swab with the mouth as big as Galway Bay? I'll cut him down to size for ye!"

Gilligan, winded by his backward fall, couldn't move. For a moment he couldn't even see.

"Gilligan, snap out of it!" The Skipper reached across and whacked him with his cap.

When Gilligan's vision cleared he saw the pirate standing over him, glaring at his ghostly cutlass. Slowly the phantom lowered it, and his face took on a look of cunning. "So that's the lay of the land, is it? Well then - ye've gained your life for now, milord. But hearken to this! Tonight, when the sun's gone below decks and the moon rises above the yardarm, haul yourself to the clearing by the north cliffs, or not one of your crew will have a head by morning. Ye be warned!" And with a swirling ebb, like grey smoke, the pirate ghost vanished.

The Howells were still hiding under the table cloth. "I say! Is it safe to sound the all clear?" whimpered Thurston.

Ginger was slicking jelly out of her hair. "Oh, I spent all night in curlers - for this!"

Mary Ann and the Professor came around the side of the table, to where the Skipper was hauling Gilligan onto his feet. Gilligan was staring into space where the apparition had stood.

"Gilligan!" The Skipper shook the younger man, but not roughly. "Gilligan, can you hear me? Speak to me!"

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," Gilligan murmured despairingly, and fainted dead away.

************************

By early afternoon the boundless tropical sky was a soft azure, laced with wisps of cloud. In the supply hut the Skipper paced back and forth wringing his hands while the Professor sat pouring over a volume of psychology. The Howells looked on in concern.

"Well, what do you say now, Professor?" the Skipper demanded, voice breaking with worry. "So much for your 'dark night in the jungle' theory!"

"Yes, Professor," agreed Mrs. Howell. "I'm afraid your Indigo notion just won't do."

"Wendigo, Lovey," corrected her husband. "Wen-dee-go."

His wife looked at him in surprise. "Why, Thurston, he went about nine o'clock this morning, during breakfast. You can't have forgotten. Didn't you take your pills this morning, darling?"

"Of course I did, my dear. But I may have to have an extra ration to settle my delicate stomach, after that little display of Gilligan's."

The Skipper was still pacing. "Mrs. Howell may have the wrong word, but she's got the right idea, Professor. Gilligan's problem's got nothing to do with ancient survival instincts. He's seeing ghosts in broad daylight now, when we're all with him! My little buddy's going off his rocker!"

The Professor flipped a page, nodding unhappily. "Yes, I'm afraid I underestimated the extent of Gilligan's neurosis. He's always had a very volatile imagination, but that violent outburst this morning was completely unprecedented. I can't think what could have brought this on!"

The Skipper couldn't bear it. "But what can we do for my little buddy? We can't leave him like this! Who knows when his imaginary ghost will pop up again? He might hurt himself or somebody else at this rate, he's so convinced that ghost is real!"

"By Jove, yes. Gilligan was positively mesmerized!"

"Mesmerized! Oh, Thurston, what a perfectly brilliant idea!" Mrs. Howell turned eagerly to the Professor. "Professor, why couldn't you try hypnosis on poor Gilligan? As I recall, you once hypnotized him into thinking he was Mary Ann, and you weren't even trying!"

The Professor raised his eyebrows and sat back. "Well, Mrs. Howell, you may have something there! However, hypnosis is hardly an exact science. All kinds of variables can influence the outcome."

The Skipper rushed over, grasping at any straw. "Well, gosh, Professor, if it might help Gilligan, what are we waiting for? I'd be glad to lend a hand!"

The Professor raised a hand to calm him. "I appreciate it, Skipper, but I think Gilligan and I ought to be alone during such an experiment. You might prove particularly susceptible to post-hypnotic suggestion yourself."

"And we certainly don't need you thinking you're Mary Ann, Captain," Mr. Howell quipped. "You certainly wouldn't do those delightful shorts of hers justice."

The Skipper looked daggers at the archly smiling millionaire (and so did Mrs. Howell, which quelled the smile), then back at the Professor. "All right, Professor. If you want him alone, you'll get him alone. The girls are looking after him right now. I'll go get him."

As he rushed out, Thurston Howell rose also. "Come along, Lovey. The Professor needs privacy if he's going to knit up poor Gilligan's ravelled sleeve of care."

"Oh, of course, I understand, Thurston. Yes, let's be on our way."

When they reached the door, Mrs. Howell turned back. "I do hope you can help the poor boy, Professor. But there's no need to mend his sleeve in secret, you know. I think knitting is a perfectly acceptable hobby for a gentleman."

"Come along, Lovey!" Her husband steered her out the door as the Professor shook his head in disbelief.

****************

In the girls' hut Gilligan sat up in bed, blindfolded, a thermometer protruding from his lips. Mary Ann sat on a chair nearby with a basin of water and a cloth on her lap while Ginger stood beside her, looking at her watch.

"Mmm hmm imm mmm hmmm," mumbled Gilligan.

"Just a few more seconds, Gilligan," said Ginger. After a few moments she drew the thermometer from his mouth and held it up to the light. "98.6. Well, at least you haven't got a fever."

Mary Ann rested her hand gently on Gilligan's forehead, sliding her warm little hand beneath his dark bangs. He went quite still. "Thank goodness. You gave us such a scare, Gilligan! I guess you won't need this cold compress then," she said, removing her hand and setting the basin and cloth on the floor.

"I need to get rid of this blindfold," said Gilligan, breathing steadily again now that her hand was gone. "I haven't got a headache and I'm not sick. I need to find the Skipper and the Professor!"

Abruptly he flung off the blanket, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. One determined step later and his foot was firmly planted in the basin and skidding across the dirt floor. He flailed, blind, before Mary Ann and Ginger caught him on either side.

"Be careful, Gilligan! You almost went over!" The girls each pulled one of his arms over their shoulders and looped their own arms around his waist.

"Look, girls, I don't care what the Professor says. I'm gonna take this blindfold off now!"

"No! If you do that, you might see that hallucination again!"

"Ginger, he wasn't a hallucination! I don't know why the rest of you couldn't see him, but I know I wasn't imagining things! And anyway, a blindfold wouldn't help. I could still hear him!"

"But you don't hear him now, do you?" asked Mary Ann, more out of concern for her friend than out of any belief in a ghost.

"No. But I'd hear him if he was here, believe me! The way he was yelling this morning! He threatened to drag you girls to his ship by your hair." Gilligan's hands flicked up and his searching fingers tangled in the brunette and crimson tresses. "But it must be okay...you've both still got hair."

Just then, the Skipper came rushing in, breathless with news. "Girls! Gilligan! I--"

He stopped short at the sight of his first mate, blindfolded and led like a casualty of war between two of the loveliest Florence Nightengales a man could wish for. He also noticed Gilligan's hands, still buried in his nurses' hair.

"Well! I don't know whether this is supposed to make you better, Gilligan, but I might try seeing a few ghosts myself if this is the remedy!"

The two women chuckled and released Gilligan as he yanked his blindfold down. "Oh, Skipper, am I glad to see you! Will you please tell them there's nothing wrong with me?"

"I-ep-well…" The Skipper twiddled his fingers for a moment. "Well, I came to tell you that soon everything's going to be all right, little buddy. The Professor's got a plan that's going to solve everything!

The women cheered. "What plan?" demanded Gilligan, half hopeful, half disbelieving.

"He's going to hypnotize you!"

Gilligan looked at the two women and the Skipper, and shrank backwards. "Oh, no, I'm not doing that! I don't want to be Mary Ann again! Running into the girls' hut in nothing but a towel! I was never so embarrassed in my life!"

Mary Ann and Ginger tried to hide their giggles as the Skipper reached out to take Gilligan's arm. "No, no, Gilligan. That was an accident. No, this time the Professor's going to hypnotize you into thinking that your ghost doesn't exist!"

Gilligan sagged, deflated. "Well, what good's that going to do?" he demanded. "That's not going to save us! The Professor should be hypnotizing the ghost into thinking he doesn't exist!"

"Oh, Gilligan, come on!" The Skipper yanked Gilligan's arm and pulled him outdoors in a stumbling run, followed by the eager girls.


	4. Chapter 4

The Skipper eagerly dragged his reluctant first mate towards the Professor's hut. "Come on, now, Gilligan. The Professor's all ready for you."

"Well, I'm not ready for him! Do you remember the last time he hypnotized you? You thought we were all Japanese soldiers! You locked us up in a cave!"

The Skipper paused, embarrassed. "Now, Gilligan--"

"You even thought the girls were Japanese soldiers! Skipper, I've got a lot of respect for the Professor, but when a man like you looks at Ginger and Mary Ann and thinks he sees Japanese soldiers!--"

"Gilligan!" The voice was like a cannon volley. Gilligan quieted. The Skipper tipped his hat at the girls as he paused before the supply hut. "Would you excuse us, ladies?"

"Of course, Skipper," said Mary Ann. "We'll get lunch started. And don't worry, Gilligan! You're going to be just fine." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off.

"Just trust the Professor, Gilligan," urged Ginger. "And by the way, boys," she added seductively over her shoulder as she turned to leave, "if anybody starts thinking I'm a Japanese soldier, I'll just have to convince him otherwise - won't I?" With that parting shot, she turned and swayed off.

It was a moment before the Skipper remembered what he had come there to do. Then he turned back to his first mate and opened the door. "Come on, Gilligan."

He propelled his smaller friend through the door and over to the Professor's table, where the Professor was sitting waiting with a strange pendant in his hand: a large, pearl-grey seashell suspended from a circlet of twine. "Ah, Gilligan, I'm glad you decided to come."

"I didn't exactly have a lot of choice," Gilligan explained, glaring at the Skipper.

The Professor wisely chose to ignore this. "Sit right here. We're going to try a little experiment."

The Skipper pushed Gilligan into the chair but he popped right back up, like a Jack-in-the-Box. "Oh, no! Professor, please don't think I'm being disrespectful or anything, but I'm not too sure about this."

"Why?"

"Because I like me the way I am! Even if I am only Gilligan!"

The Professor smiled. "Gilligan, I'd never try to change who you are. I only want to help you feel better."

"Feel better? Well, I can tell you how to do that, easy!"

"How?"

Gilligan appealed to them both. "Do something to get rid of the ghost!"

The Skipper pushed him into the chair again, but gently. "Gilligan, that's what he's going to do. with hypnosis. Now, please, little buddy, just let him try!"

"You promise I'm not gonna turn into Mary Ann?" Gilligan didn't look too convinced.

"I promise, Gilligan. The point of this therapy is not to alter your personality; it's merely meant to shift your memory patterns."

Gilligan relaxed, but was still on guard. "Oh. Well, okay. As long as you don't try to make me forget anything."

The Skipper gave him a small shove on the shoulder. "Gilligan, that's the whole point of this!"

"But Skipper--!"

The Professor tried to explain. "Gilligan, we need to suppress the memory of the hallucinations, because the problem is perpetuating itself, like a bad cough."

"A bad cough??"

"Yes. Do you know what cures a bad cough?"

"Yeah! A pirate cuts your head off!"

"Yes. I-I mean no!" The Professor scowled, momentarily flustered, while the Skipper grabbed his hat for a swat, but restrained himself. "I'm talking about cough syrup, Gilligan."

"What?? Professor! Cough syrup's not going to do you much good once your head's been cut off!"

"Gilligan!" This time the hat came down and whacked Gilligan's sailor cap askew. "You're gonna need a cure if you don't be quiet and let the Professor finish. Now go on, Professor."

The Professor sighed and squared his shoulders, determined to finish his lesson before discipline totally broke down in his class. "Cough syrup, Gilligan, cures a bad cough because it anaesthetizes the throat in order to cover up the irritation. Well, by the same token, this hypnosis is meant to anaesthetize your memory of the ghost, so that your psyche can begin to heal."

Gilligan was still biting his lip in doubt, but realized there was no use in arguing. "Well, all right, Professor. I guess you know best."

"Why, thank you, Gilligan. I'll promise that I'll certainly try my best." The Professor looked up at the Skipper. "Thanks for your help, Skipper. I'll call you if I need you."

Recognizing his cue, the Skipper patted Gilligan on the shoulder and left.

The Professor turned back to his patient, raising the seashell pendant. "Now, Gilligan, concentrate on this shell." He swung the swirling seashell back and forth as Gilligan's blue eyes followed it.

"You are starting to feel sleepy, Gilligan. You can hardly keep your eyes open."

"Professor, I'm telling you, this isn't going to be easy. This stuff never works on me because--" Gilligan's eyelids suddenly fluttered wildly, and his chin flopped to his chest.

The Professor sat back, surprised, then smiled. This was going to be easier than he'd thought. "Now, Gilligan...we are going to travel backwards in time...back to yesterday."

Gilligan stirred faintly. "Yesterday," he mumbled.

"Yesterday morning, you and the Skipper went fishing in the lagoon. Try to picture yourself there now...the green palms dancing in the warm trade winds...the heat coming off the sand...the sun rippling on the water..."

"Sand...water..." murmured Gilligan.

"You are there now. There is no hurry - you can fish all day if you want to. It is a perfect day. You and the Skipper are laughing and talking together."

"Skipper..."

"What are you saying to each other?"

Gilligan's voice began to alternate between deep, booming tones, and his own. "...say, what happened to my...Gilligan, cut that out!...Skipper! Look out for the...Gilligan, you nincompoop!...Sorry, Skipper...ouch..."

The Professor drew back with a wry expression. "All right, all right, Gilligan, let's move on. You caught some nice fish. We all enjoyed them at lunch. It was a wonderful meal."

A slow smile spread across Gilligan's face. "Yeah..." he said softly.

The Professor's face lit with an answering smile. "Now, Gilligan...that meal is the last thing you are going to remember, until you wake up and find yourself sitting at my table."

**********************

Ginger and Mary Ann were setting the table for lunch when they spotted the Skipper tiptoeing out of his hut, gingerly holding the cutlass by two fingers. "Skipper? Where are you going with that thing?" asked Mary Ann.

The Skipper jumped, startled, then put his fingers to his lips. "Sshh, Mary Ann. I'm on my way to hide this where Gilligan will never find it!"

"Oh, I get it," said Ginger, pausing as she arranged flowers around the plates. "We don't want any reminders of Gilligan's ghost around, do we?"

"Exactly. Now, when he and the Professor come out, just play along with whatever the Professor says."

"Okay, Skipper," the two women promised. The Skipper began to tiptoe away again, but before he could make good his escape, the door of the Professor's hut opened. He quickly hid the cutlass behind his back as the Professor and his patient emerged.

To their surprise, Gilligan smiled happily at them all. The Professor, looking quite delighted, was patting him on the shoulder. He addressed them all with even more deliberation than usual, as though he were cueing a troupe of actors. "Well, folks, it looks as though Gilligan's over his sunstroke, and apparently suffering no ill effects."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" chorused Ginger and Mary Ann, glancing at the Skipper, the Professor and back to Gilligan again.

"Yeah!" said Gilligan, not appearing to notice. "Boy, I sure won't sit out in the hot sun like that again. I can't remember a single thing that happened after lunch yesterday. Not a thing!"

The Skipper laughed, rushing over to pat his first mate on the back. "Well, that's all right, little buddy! Nothing much happened, so there's nothing much to remember! Ha ha ha!" He laughed so heartily that he forgot to keep the cutlass hidden behind him.

"Hey, Skipper. What've you got there?"

The Skipper gulped in dismay and hid it again. Mentally kicking himself, he tried to bluster. "Oh, this old thing? It's nothing, Gilligan, never mind."

"Doesn't look like nothing. Can I see it?"

"Gilligan, I told you, it's just a piece of junk--"

"Then why can't I see it?"

"Gilligan, I said never mind, and that's an order!"

The girls and the Professor looked at each other in consternation. They knew how determined Gilligan could be when he became curious. "Skipper - maybe you'd better just show him. I'm sure it will be all right."

The Skipper hesitated. "Well...I...okay, Professor." Slowly he drew out the cutlass, like a naughty schoolboy caught with a slingshot.

Gilligan leaned in for a closer look. They all held their breath - but no explosion came. "Hmmm," the young sailor remarked, with mild interest. "Looks like a sword. Where'd you find that, Skipper?"

The Skipper cast desperate looks at his fellow castaways, who all thought wildly. Inspiration suddenly struck Ginger.

"Ah...it's a movie prop, Gilligan. It was in one those crates of silent movie equipment we found."

The Skipper threw Ginger a look of adoration, then nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Ha ha! I forgot we had it!"

Gilligan examined the hilt and the skull and crossbones. "Gee, I guess they must have used this in a pirate movie. Neat."

Everyone looked at each other in wonder at Gilligan's offhand reaction. "Yeah, I guess so," said the Skipper. "Well, I'll just go put this away--"

"Oh, hang on, Skipper." Gilligan hadn't let go of the cutlass yet. "I'd kinda like to have it."

Once again the worried look went 'round the group. "Gilligan, what possible use could you have for such a thing?" asked the Professor.

"Oh, it'd be real handy in a lot of my chores. And in my spare time I like to whittle and play mumbly-peg. I could even use it to make sand castles!"

This brought a general chuckle, and the Skipper finally relaxed. "Well, okay, little buddy. Here you are."

He handed it over to Gilligan, who simply took it, smiled, and let it hang by his side. "Wow, the table sure looks nice. What's for lunch, girls?"

Before they could answer, the Skipper put his hands on Gilligan's shoulders. "Here, little buddy, you go put that away and wash up, and when you come back, the girls'll have lunch all ready for us."

"Oh. Okay, Skipper." Gilligan ambled off and disappeared into their hut.

As soon as he was gone they all rushed over to the Professor, the Skipper seizing the Professor's arm and shaking it. "Oh, Professor," he enthused, trying hard to keep his voice at a whisper, "you're a genius! I think Gilligan's back on an even keel! He saw the skull and crossbones and didn't even bat an eyelash!"

The Professor laughed. "Well, I can't take all the credit, Skipper. Gilligan is a very easy subject to hypnotize!"

"Oh, Professor, don't be so modest! You're one in a million!" Ginger purred.

"That's right!" said Mary Ann. "Oh, Skipper! He's completely cured!"

The Professor nodded. "Now, as long as we all adhere to the sunstroke explanation and don't remind Gilligan of his traumatic experiences, he should experience a full recovery."

"Oh! Then I'd better go let the Howells in on this," said Mary Ann, hurrying off.

The Skipper waved after her. "Thanks, Mary Ann. Gosh, it's great to see Gilligan back to his old self again!"


	5. Chapter 5

Late that night, the tropical moon glowed in the window of the crew's hut, bathing everything in soft blue light. Gilligan lay sleepless and alert in his hammock, clutching the cutlass hilt with trembling fingers. He listened until the Skipper's stentorian snoring became regular, and then slowly, carefully slid from his hammock and crept to the window, where the full moon glimmered like a ghostly galleon. Gilligan shivered. Taking a last, longing look at the Skipper, he turned and tip-toed towards the bamboo door.

He was just easing it soundlessly open when...

"Gilligan!"

It was just a whisper, but it nearly shocked Gilligan out of his skin. He turned back towards the hammocks, gulping and smiling nervously. "Hiya, Skipper. I thought you were asleep."

"I can see that." The Skipper was using his deceptively calm, 'I know what you're up to' voice. "And just where is it you're going, at this time of night?"

Gilligan thought fast - too fast. "Ah-well-I heard this beeping noise and I thought I might have left the phone off the hook, Skipper."

"Gilligan, we have no phone."

"And-uh-I think I left the lights on, too."

"We have no lights." The Skipper's tone was getting darker, like the sky before a storm.

Gilligan was babbling now. "And-and-I kinda thought I might have left the motor running in the car, Skipper, and that can really wear the battery down, and with the price of gas these days--"

"We haven't got a motor car either!" the Skipper thundered.

Gilligan shrugged and laughed nervously. "Gosh, no phone, no lights, no motor-car...we haven't got a single luxury, have we, Skipper?"

"Oh - Gilligan! Get over here! Front and centre!"

Gilligan's navy training kicked in. He dashed over and stood at attention beside the hammocks. "Aye-aye, Sir!"

The Skipper, still lying in the lower hammock, couldn't see Gilligan's face through the mesh of the upper.

"Gilligan..." he began, with infinite patience. "I can't talk to you if you're still up there, can I? At ease!"

Gilligan hunkered down by the Skipper's side, where the old seadog smiled benignly. "That's better, little buddy. Now, I asked you a simple question. Where were you going just now?"

"Oh, I - I was just going out to use the latrine, Skipper, and...you know, I was too shy to say so, and..."

"And why do you need-" the Skipper's fingers twirled elaborately and pointed "-that cutlass?"

"The cutlass? Uh..." Gilligan had forgotten he was holding it. He fumbled with it, trying to look nonchalant. "Well, Skipper, the pathway's been getting kind of overgrown lately, and I thought I might have to clear it. See?"

And trying to mime hacking his way through the jungle, he aimed a wild blow sideways.

Thwok! The blade hit the hammock pole, sliced through the hammock rope and dumped the skipper headfirst on the ground, all in a split second.

"Doop! Gilligan!" The Skipper writhed in the sand and struggled to his feet, wrenching the cutlass free as he did so. "I'll clear your path, you nincompoop!"

The first mate cringed away, arms up over his head, at the sight of the furious Skipper brandishing a sword. "Skipper, please don't cut my head off! The pirate's going to do it anyway!"

"Little buddy, don't be ridiculous!" The Skipper threw the cutlass backwards for emphasis, with such force that it sheered through the top of the hammock pole. The severed foot-long shaft of bamboo spun in the air before arcing down to bean the Skipper neatly on the head.

"Oww! The Ancient Mariner had the albatross around his neck...and I've got you!"

"I'm really sorry, Skipper," Gilligan whimpered, still cringing back. "But you've got to let me go! The pirate ghost said I've got to go and meet him tonight!"

The Skipper suddenly realized what Gilligan was saying. He stopped and shook his head, as if to clear it.

"What?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"The ghost, Skipper, the one that I keep seeing!"

The Skipper stared at him, dumbfounded. "But - but how do you remember any of that? The Professor hypnotized you! You said you couldn't remember anything after we went fishing in the lagoon!"

"I had to pretend! I couldn't let him hypnotize me! I have to meet the ghost, Skipper! I have to!"

"Gilligan..." The Skipper threw his arms up and then let them fall at his sides, flummoxed. Nothing seemed to be working. "When is this going to stop? How many times do I have to tell you there are no such things as ghosts? You did not see one!"

"Skipper, I've seen things before, lots of times, and the rest of you didn't believe me, but they turned out to be real!"

That gave the Skipper pause. He fingered his chin, remembering. "Well, yes, but--"

"Remember the headhunter that Mrs. Howell said was a figment of my imagination? And then he captured everybody?"

"W-yes..."

"And the gorilla that took Mrs. Howell's brooch? And then took her? Nobody believed me about him, and he was real too!"

"Yes, I take your point, little buddy, but--"

"And Tongo the Ape Man?"

"Gilligan--"

"And--"

"Gilligan!" the Skipper roared, trying to stem the tide. "I know all that! But there's something about all those incidents that you've forgotten!"

"What, Skipper?"

The Skipper put his hand on Gilligan's shoulder, as if to force him to focus. He tried to make his voice calm. "You were alone when you first saw all those things! But later, we saw them too, and we believed you! But this morning when you saw your pirate ghost, we were all with you, but nobody else could see or hear him! That's why we don't believe you this time, Gilligan! That's why I know he's not real!"

Gilligan slumped, defeated. "Skipper, I can't explain it, but I can't take that chance! He threatened to do away with all of you if I don't go! Please, Skipper! I couldn't stand it if something happened to all my friends!"

"Gilligan..." the Skipper sighed, touched by the fear in his first mate's eyes. "Little buddy...even this morning you were trying to protect us all, weren't you? No matter where your head is, your heart's always in the right place. I just wish there was some way I could help you!"

"You can let me go, Skipper, so I can meet him! I can't let him chop off all your heads! You'd never speak to me again!"

The Skipper chuckled at the absurdity and looped his arm around Gilligan's shoulder. "Little buddy, I am not letting you go out into the jungle all by yourself."

"But--"

"So I'm going with you." The words were out before the Skipper even thought about them - but they felt exactly right. "No pirate's gonna threaten my crew while I'm around!"

The Skipper would never forget the look on Gilligan's face. It was the same look he'd worn the day they'd disembarked from their destroyer for the last time and had been about to go their separate ways...when the Skipper had suddenly called after him and offered him the job of first mate...

Gilligan could barely speak. "Oh, Skipper…thanks, Big Buddy!"

The Skipper laughed good naturedly, glad to ease the tension. "Well, come on, then. Let's go get some torches. And keep it down, so we don't disturb the others."

"Okay, Skipper."

As Gilligan turned towards the door, the Skipper went to the table to retrieve his captain's hat. Then he turned and headed for the door himself, but in the darkness of the hut, he didn't see Gilligan crouched on the floor, trying to find the cutlass. The Skipper stumbled over Gilligan and sailed out the door in a heavy somersault. "Doop!"

Gilligan appeared at the door, cutlass in hand, to see the Skipper sitting splayed on the ground, with a dazed look on his face.

"Skipper, sshh! We're not supposed to wake up the others!"

The Skipper clenched his teeth in exasperation, then sighed. "Thanks alot, Gilligan!" he grumbled, smiling in resignation. "Just get the torches, and let's go!"

There followed what seemed an endless trek through the night-time jungle. The licking flames of the tiki torches turned each grove into a weird, flickering chamber, surrounded by dark archways that sprang into lurid life and back into shadow, each in their turn. Great insects scuttled up the tree trunks, iridescent wings shimmering in the firelight. Strange pairs of luminous eyes winked and vanished in the dark foliage. And everywhere were soft sounds: chirps, squeaks, rustles, hisses, and other sounds too strange to name.

Like visitors in dark cathedral, Gilligan and the Skipper spoke in whispers.

"Gilligan, I wish you'd do one thing for me."

Gilligan blinked, eyes watering from the sting of the smoke. "What's that, Skipper?"

"I wish you'd let me lead!" the Skipper fumed, swatting a big fern that had flown into his face.

"But Skipper, I've got the cutlass. I've got to clear the trail!" The first mate hacked at the thick brush in front of him in demonstration.

"That's what I mean," the Skipper whispered angrily as huge, thick, damp leaves whomped him again. "It's like walking into a wet blanket on a clothesline back here!"

"Oh!" Gilligan glanced back. "Sorry, Skipper. But I've gotta go first. You don't know where we're going!"

"Well then, why don't you tell me?" the Skipper demanded, fuse nearing the powder keg.

Gilligan stopped to slash at a huge tangle of vines that blocked his way. One of the vines, snaking into the canopy, tugged loose some coconuts that came plummeting down. The Gordian knot broke apart just as the coconuts fell to the soft earth - all but one, that landed squarely on the Skipper's hat. The big man was knocked out cold and pitched forward without a sound, his torch falling to land in a patch of mud beside him. The thick, wet leaves hacked loose by Gilligan's efforts covered it, dampening and smothering the flame.

"It's the cliffs on the north end of the island, Skipper," Gilligan said, oblivious to the fact that his captain had gone down with ship. "If you really want to lead, just say so."

There was nothing but silence behind him. "Skipper, are you sore at me?" Still no answer. Gilligan knew his cue. He didn't even look back, for fear of getting a swat. "Okay, Skipper, I get the message. Shutting up now."

And true to his word, Gilligan neither spoke nor even looked back as he made his way through the thick jungle and up the rising ground of the island's mountain range. It was enough to concentrate on not tripping over fallen tree trunks or getting tangled in creepers, and despite the humid, claustrophobic darkness and his own great fear, Gilligan wasn't about to give up. Not with his Skipper behind him.

At last Gilligan heard a distant crash of waves and smelled the salt sea over the reek of tiki smoke. Moments later he stepped out of the jungle onto a bushy, moonlit promontory that commanded a view of the vast moonlit ocean. He knew that if he walked just past the little glade straight ahead, he would go right over...

It almost seemed preferable to meeting that terrible spirit again. Gilligan took a few steps backward, shaking. "Boy, Skipper, am I scared! I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come with me! He turned around at last, to behold only the inky black depths of the mocking jungle.

He was alone.

In the terror that flooded over him, Gilligan almost forgot to breathe. There was no sign of his big buddy anywhere. He suddenly remembered he had not actually heard or seen the Skipper for ages, and lifted the torch with trembling fingers, desperately hoping to catch of glimpse of his friend hiding in the bushes and teasing him. "Skipper? S-Skipper? Come on...d-don't play tricks on me!"

But there was nothing. Even the jungle seemed to have fallen as silent as a tomb. There was only the muted crashing of the waves far below.

And one more sound – a deep, cruel laugh. Gilligan felt the torch drop from his nerveless fingers, then forced himself to turn 'round.


	6. Chapter 6

There on the edge of the cliff, huge and sinister in the moonlight, stood the tall, glowing shape of the pirate ghost. "So ye've come! And at the very hour I was after naming. I be much obliged, Lord Gilligan. Oh, begging your pardon, milord, but I believe that's me cutlass ye have there." The phantom advanced, booted feet making no sound on the grass, as his hollow voice chilled Gilligan's soul. "It's split many a sailor from collar to breeches, and I'm rather partial to it, so hand it over, if ye please."

Gilligan's feet felt made of lead. He backed up with horrible slowness, hypnotized by the impossible, glowing spectre. The pirate ghost chuckled as he closed inexorably in. "Where's your strut and swagger now, eh? Where's your, 'Ye'll hang for your crimes, Tom Scallion!' Ye were proud as a paycock, with your fine feathers and fancy ways! But t'is only the two of us now, Lord Gilligan." He drew his glowing sword and hefted it with terrible deliberation. "Soon to be only one!"

The sight of the sword shocked the terrified first mate into action. With a gasp he ducked as the sword whipped by at waist height, and he felt the cold blast sweep over his head. "Haaah!" roared the pirate, as Gilligan shot upwards, jumping the next blow like a gymnast. When he hit the ground he sprang up and started running towards the jungle. "Hah hah! Ye can't run, matey! I'm a spectre now! I can move like the wind in the sails!"

Gilligan came to a full skidding stop as the pirate appeared in front of him, hands on hips, laughing. He spun and dashed in the opposite direction, making for the cliff edge in his blind panic. But before he could reach it, his foot slipped in the loose sand, send him sprawling. The cutlass flew from his hands. Crawling desperately for it, he groped in the grass and shot a terrified look behind him to where the glowing pirate was advancing with murderous speed.

Gilligan's hand closed on something cold, smooth and long, and he thrust out in front of himself defiantly. But when they both caught sight of the object, the pirate threw back his head and laughed all the harder.

It wasn't the cutlass at all: it was an old-fashioned telescope, rusted and dirt-encrusted with age, and the end of it actually sagged forward, like a wilted palm frond. Gilligan's eyes widened with horror and despair.

"Get up and fight, ye coward!" The pirate raised his sword for the last time.

Gilligan turned his head and shut his eyes, steeling himself for the blow, when suddenly a new voice behind him rang out through the clearing. "Avast, Scallion! Let him alone, I say! It's me you want!"

He heard something clang, and heard the pirate curse furiously. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and looked overhead to see the pirate with his sword still upraised, because a second glowing blade had parried it and was staunchly blocking its descent. An arm clothed in shimmering white silk and lace cuffs held the sword aloft.

The new voice laughed, a clear, ringing, joyous sound. "Surrender, knave, while you still can!" The white arm pushed the pirate ghost off balance, and Gilligan sat up as the second figure vaulted over him and forced the pirate back.

Gilligan rubbed his eyes in disbelief. A young swordsman had leapt into the clearing, dressed from head to foot in white: a billowing white shirt, skin-tight white knee breeches, white stockings and boots, and a wide-brimmed, white hat with a pluming white feather that dipped and wafted as he moved. He drove the pirate back in a flurry of spectacular blows, and the two glowing figures slashed, swirled, advanced and retreated about the clearing in a swift, fantastic dance. The man in white was amazingly nimble and graceful, his slender form a total contrast with the pirate's dark, ungainly, hacking bulk. He laughed again, as though he were quite enjoying himself, infuriating the bewildered pirate.

"Damn ye, Lord Admiral! So you're fish-bait as well! Who's the young sprat with me cutlass, then?"

"He's flesh and blood - my flesh and blood, I dare say." With a lightning riposte, the man in white tossed the pirate's sword in the air. It arced up, flickering, and vanished. The pirate cursed. "This ain't finished, Lord Gilligan!" he hissed, and vanished in a burst of weird light.

The clearing was suddenly peaceful again. The man in white chuckled, sheathing his sword. Then he turned to Gilligan, flashing a brilliant smile. Gilligan sucked in his breath, astonished.

Beneath the foppish hat was his own face: his own shock of dark hair, his own wide blue eyes, his own nose and mouth, save for a neat black moustache waxed to perfection and curled slightly at both ends. The young swordsman seemed only slightly older than he was. Gilligan clutched a tree for support and felt his way to his feet, wondering if he was dreaming.

His double strode over and saw the telescope in Gilligan's hand. "Why, lad, I see you found my telescope. Lucky thing for you, what? Looks as though that's what brought me back, and just in the nick of time, I shouldn't wonder!"

Gilligan was shaking his head back and forth. "I don't believe it! It--it can't be you!"

The man in white smiled and preened his moustache. "You know me, then?""Know you? I've heard about you all my life! Gosh, I've even dreamt I was you! You're the reason I followed the sea! You're my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather! Lord Admiral Horatio Gilligan of the Royal Navy!"

"The bravest, most daring swordsman in the fleet," Lord Admiral Gilligan announced, sweeping off his hat and making a courtly bow. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

Gilligan snatched off his sailor's cap. "The pleasure's mine! I just don't believe it! Th-thanks for saving my life!"

"Not at all. I could hardly allow so handsome a lad to fall prey to a rapscallion like Tom Scallion! Especially not my own great, great, great...great...uh..." the man in white hesitated, losing his poise for the first time. "What year did you say it was?"

"Oh, I didn't. But it's 1967," Gilligan said helpfully.

"Good heavens! Nearly two hundred years!" He smiled approvingly at Gilligan. "Well, the line's breeding true, I'll swear to that. You must take after my side of the family."

"Guess so."

"And you followed in my footsteps, you say? How splendid! By gad, your ship must be a fine one, to have carried you all this way." The Lord Admiral swung round, gazing about at the moonlit sea and jungle as his descendant continued to stare at him in wonder. "This island wasn't even on the map when I landed here. What was His Majesty pleased to name it?"

"Oh--" Gilligan tried to come back to earth. "Uh--he hasn't. And it isn't. On the map, I mean." At the Lord Admiral's quizzical expression, Gilligan tried to explain. "Nobody knows the island's here, or that we're here, either. You see, sir--Lord Admiral, sir--we were shipwrecked," he finished sheepishly.

"By Drake's drum! You don't say! Well, don't look so downcast about it, lad. These southern seas are plagued with tempests, and the reef beyond yon cliff is deadly! Tom Scallion's Sea Witch was smashed to pieces on it! And so would the H.M.S. Fortitude have been, if I hadn't ordered the sails struck and the anchor dropped when we saw them strike the reef." The Lord Admiral strode forward and pointed out over the cliff. "It was just there - I'll never forget it, not as long as I--ah--not ever, I mean. Lud, it was devilish quick. She broke up like a breached keg of rum. Most of the pirates never made it to shore."

Gilligan looked out over the cliff edge and shuddered. "Gosh...we drifted in to the bay on the east shore. We hit a few rocks and the Minnow ended up full of holes, but we stayed afloat until we beached. Boy, were we lucky!"

"Luckier still that you escaped the cannibals," Lord Admiral Gilligan remarked.

"Cannibals?" Gilligan gasped, then remembered. "Oh, yeah! Back at the pit. The professor says there've been all kinds of them here: the Marubi, the Kupa Kai...headhunters still land here every so often, but we've always managed to scare them off. At least no cannibals live here permanently anymore." A sudden awful thought struck him and he looked up at the ghost with horror and pity. "Oh...that barbecue pit...you weren't one of their...I mean...were you?"

The Lord Admiral flashed his dazzling smile again and shook his head. "Did the rascals make a meal out of me, do you mean? Never fear, lad. Lord Admiral Horatio Gilligan was far too clever for those savages - though Tom Scallion and his men weren't quite so fortunate." He chuckled. "I daresay he gave them the deuce of a bellyache, and serve them all right!"

"So, what did happen to you?"

The ghost gestured towards a fallen tree trunk nearby. "Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale – a tale of a fateful trip!"


	7. Chapter 7

Gilligan was delighted. He perched on the tree trunk and threw his arms about his knees, feeling like he was back in school, being read Treasure Island.

The ghost propped a white-booted foot on the log and leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "We were following James Cook and the Endeavour, you see, when we chanced upon a Dutch trader that had been ravaged by pirates. They told us that a band of buccaneers had taken to preying on the Dutch and Spanish ships coming from the Orient, and getting up to some pretty nasty business. The survivors said the pirate's captain was blackguard of the first water: Tom Scallion. He'd made a name for himself in the Caribbean, and would soon be the terror of the South Pacific. So, I told James to get on with his exploring, and said I'd bring these hounds to heel.

The sea's a fair but fickle mistress, lad. We were struck by the mother of all storms just off the Sandwich Islands and blown leagues off course. By the time it had calmed, we'd lost our sextant and our compass had no idea of our position."

"You lost the sextant and the compass? How'd that happen?"

The Lord Admiral looked embarrassed for a moment and fiddled needlessly with his cravat. "A compass is a damned tricky thing to hang onto in rough weather," he murmured. "Then later in the longboat I was trying to fix our position with the sextant and we nearly struck a rock…" He straightened, smoothing the frothy lace. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Oh…yeah. But what happened to you after the storm?"

"We made repairs as best we could, and thought we'd try for the Sandwiches again. The Pacific is a vast place, lad, but here was a stretch that seemed even more forsaken than the rest. And then, at long last, just at sundown, we saw Scallion's ship ahead, and beyond it, the black mountains of an island. The Sea Witch was making for the shore, or being dragged to it – it was hard to tell which. They seemed to be fighting a mysterious current that was dragging them t'ords the reefs. Well, you heard what happened there. Once the Fortitude was safely anchored, we set down a longboat and made for shore ourselves. That was when I took the sextant and – well – the bosun managed to miss the rock, though we tumbled about a little. But the torches we'd brought were still dry, and when we landed we made fast the boat and found the pirates' footprints headed for the jungle. My men and I set off in pursuit.

We hadn't gone far before the air was filled with the most bloodcurdling whoops ever to chill a man's soul. I've heard the Mohawks shriek in the snows of the Canadas, and it was a Sunday school choir compared to this. The savages came leaping down the mountains, torches blazing, hundreds of them! Half-naked heathens with skulls 'round their waists and masks like grinning demons. They'd surrounded the pirates before you could say Bonaparte. Oh, it was a dreadful battle, lad. I could unfold a tale whose slightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood –" the ghost paused in mid-declamation. "Ahem – well, with a few of their Long Toms the pirates might have prevailed, but cutlasses were no match for that dreadful host. The pirates were taken prisoner and marched away."

Gilligan's eyes went as wide as pewter plates. "Whoever knew that all that happened on our little island! I'm beginning to think anything could happen here! What happened then?"

"Why, we followed them, of course. They were blackguards all, and bound for the hangman's noose, but better a Christian hanging and burial than to be roasted and boiled as part of a pagan feast! Still, I balked at risking the lives of my gallant men against such odds. They argued with me, bless them all, but in the end they did as they were ordered. I told them to keep back and watch. If I could free the pirates, my men were to take them in charge, but if I failed, they were to make for the ship and leave me to my fate."

Gilligan shook his head in admiration. "Gosh, you sure are brave, Lord Admiral. But how were you going to free the pirates all by yourself? How were you going to manage against all those natives?"

The ghost smiled demurely. "Brains, my lad, not brawn. I knew that only the superior mind could win the day. I realized that I could make the natives do my bidding if only they believed I was a god."

Gilligan brightened at the memory. "That's just what we did! That's just what we did! What did you use? A radio? A flashlight? A fire extinguisher?"

The Lord Admiral blinked. "Eh? That's all Greek to me, lad. No, no, it was my find brace of pistols. Nothing like a little fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume! But back to my tale. We crept through the jungle, following the glare and the tang of the natives' torches, their own dreadful war cries and the oaths of the hapless pirates, 'til at last we saw the whole motley crew march into a wide clearing with a hideous totem pole at one end."

"At the barbecue pit!" Gilligan gasped. "I've seen it!"

"And barbecue was what it meant indeed. They had the pirates kneeling on the ground – all but that rascal, Scallion, who was tied to a stake. I expect he was meant to be some special course. There was a fierce, masked savage standing over each pirate with a great club in his hands, and more savages were using poles to tip hot rocks into the pit beneath. A prancing, boned and beaded witch doctor stood gibbering at Scallion, waving a wicked bone knife in his face. I signalled to my men to wait, and stepped into the clearing. 'Avast, you knaves!' I cried. "Now hear this! In the King's name, I, Lord Admiral Gilligan, order you to desist!"

The whole clearing hushed. Villains of both colours stared at me. The tribesmen went for their spears and blowguns. "Lord Gilligan!" shouted Scallion. "I'd heard the yarns about ye, but you're even dafter than they say!"

I faced him. 'Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile! But you'll only hang for your crimes, Tom Scallion, not simmer in a savage's stewpot!' I turned back to the tribesmen, drawing my silver pistol. 'Stand fast, you scoundrels. I am the god of fire and thunder!' Then I fired into the air and the flash and roar sent them all howling. The pirates were howling too. 'Save us, Lord Gilligan! Save us from the cannibal fiends!'

Scallion was as unimpressed with them as I. 'Belay that, you swabs! You'll not hear me begging one spare breath from this prized popinjay!" He turned to the witch doctor and seemed not to care whether he lived or died, so long as he took me with him. 'He's no god, mate. That be a trick. He's just another dish for your table, though I'll swear there ain't much meat on him!"

The witch doctor turned on me. "If you not god," he growled, "you die. And I make on you same curse I make on him!"

Scallion laughed. "Aye. He'll curse your very ghost, milord. We'll be here a mighty long time, you and I."

I raised my second pistol. "I am a god! Behold!" and I pulled the trigger."

There was a pause. Gilligan sat expectantly. "Well?"

"Well…" the ghost began fiddling with his cravat again. "My powder must have gotten damp during the sea crossing. In any case, the damned thing didn't fire. So there I was, with the pistol having made a jolly disappointing click, and me with a hoard of hungry natives suddenly catching up their spears.

Scallion threw back his head and laughed. "Well done, Milord! They'll be sucking on our bones tonight! Har har!"

And then I tried the oldest trick in the book. 'Look!' I cried, pointing to the jungle. They all spun, and I turned and dashed off in the other direction to lead them away from my men. If I could buy them the time to get back to the ship, my death would not be in vain. It was a race I'll never forget. I was haring through the jungle, fighting and tripping through bush and bracken, slipping through mud and bounding over bogs, anything to keep moving and keep them in my wake. I could hear their wild whooping, and their spears and darts were whizzing past me like angry hornets. Fronds slapped my face and thorns ripped my flesh. Finally I emerged, panting, on this promontory. I tore out my telescope and focussed it over the moonlit sea. There below stood the Fortitude, her white sails gleaming in the moonlight. I could see by the glow of the lamps amidships that the capstan was turning and they were about to weigh anchor. They were safe. And just then the natives roared into the clearing and I dropped the telescope and drew my sword, preparing to fight to the last. I dared them on. 'Come on, you rascals! Who'll be the first to taste the cold steel of my blade?'"

Gilligan shuddered and drew a deep breath. "Gosh! How many of them did you get before…you know?"

The ghost looked a little crestfallen. "None, actually. I was trying to keep them all within my sights as they approached and somehow I lost my bearings. The next thing I knew I felt the ground crumbling beneath my foot…and it was a dashed long way down."

Gilligan shivered, chilled with the horror of it.

"And so here I am," the ghost finished brightly. "And here we are!"

"Yeah!" Gilligan shook his head, jarred back to the happier present. "Here we are! But…but how are you here? And how is Tom Scallion still here? What did that old witch-doctor say when he cursed you?"

The Lord Admiral shrugged his non-corporeal shoulders. "I've no notion, lad. Only Scallion heard him. I never returned to their grisly feast."

"Oh yeah, that's right: because you led them away and saved your men! Wow! Lord Admiral, you've got to be the bravest man I've ever known, except for the Skipper."

"The Skipper? Who might he be? A seafaring man, is he?"

"Yeah! He's the Skipper - I mean the captain - of the Minnow, our ship that got shipwrecked." Gilligan gaped up at the Lord Admiral, horrified. "The Skipper! Omigosh, the Skipper!"

The Lord Admiral's eyebrows rose in concern. "What ails you, lad?"

"He was following me through the jungle and I thought he was still there, but when I got here and looked around, he was gone! Then with seeing the pirate and meeting you, I completely forgot about him! We've gotta find him!"

Gilligan scrambled to his feet and was about to dash off into the jungle when the ghost held up his hand. "Hold hard, sir. We'd best hold our position here; your captain may well come seeking you!"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure he knows where I am! I don't know whether he heard me say where we were going! Oh, please, sir, he'd never abandon me on purpose! I'm his little buddy! Something must have happened to him! We've gotta make sure he's all right!"

The Lord Admiral smiled. "All right, my boy. I'll follow your lead. Which course do we take?"

"I think I can take us back the same way we came. I'll just light my torch again..."

He bent to pick up the charred wood, but the ghost interrupted him.

"No time for that, I'd say; we'd best be underway. In any case, you won't need light. Not with me about." The glowing nimbus around his white form intensified and flickered, as if in emphasis.

Gilligan smiled in wonder, mightily impressed. "Wow! You almost look like me when I drank the Professor's formula!"

Now the ghost was truly confused. "Beg pardon, lad?"

Gilligan realized there was no time for explanation. "Uh - I'll explain later. But I better grab this." He snatched the cutlass out of the grass where it had fallen. "I wouldn't want to meet that pirate again without some kind of protection! Come on, our camp is this way, Lord Admiral. With any luck the Skipper revived and found his own way back. Boy, I sure hope so."

With the glowing phantom following in his wake, Gilligan darted into the jungle.


	8. Chapter 8

The Skipper arrived back at the camp at first light, stumbling to the communal table with a throbbing headache. "Professor! Mr. and Mrs. Howell! Ginger and Mary Ann! Come quick!"

The Professor was the first to appear, hurriedly pulling on the shirt of his spotted pyjamas. "What is it, Skipper?" He stopped at the table where the Skipper was sitting, holding his head. "What on earth's happened?"

The girls came rushing out of their hut: Mary Ann in the long-tailed dress shirt donated by Mr. Howell long ago, and Ginger provocatively wrapped in her orange blanket. "Skipper, what is it?" Mary Ann gasped.

And finally the Howells appeared, he in his ascot and dressing gown, and she in a blue chiffon robe. As Gilligan had once remarked, they were more dressed up to go to bed than he was to be awake. Thurston yawned and groaned in dismay. "A little early for roll call, don't you think, Captain?"

His wife concurred. "Good heavens, our butler never even drilled the servants this early!"

The Professor took charge "Everyone, quiet, please!" He placed a steadying hand on the Skipper's shoulder. "Now just it easy, Skipper. Take your time."

The Skipper passed a hand across his eyes. "We haven't got time, Professor! Did Gilligan come back here during the night?"

The Howells and the girls looked at one another in surprise while the Professor drew back. "Come back? Did the two of you go somewhere?"

"Out into the jungle. A long ways. Is he here?"

"I'll go check!" Mary Ann hurried to the crew's hut, looked through the window, then turned back in dismay. "He's not there, Skipper!"

The Skipper tried to rise, but the Professor held him down. "Now just hang on, Skipper. You've got to tell us what this is all about. What was this nocturnal expedition in aid of?"

"Oh..." It was a moan of despair. "He was going after his pirate ghost. He was convinced it was going to kill us all!"

"What?" They all chorused, appalled. "But he was hypnotized! Do you mean the post-hypnotic suggestion wore off?" demanded the Professor.

"Oh, he was just pretending, Professor! It was all a put-on! Last night I caught him trying to sneak out of our hut to try to find his ghost! He was absolutely dead set on going! But I couldn't let him go by himself! What if he got hurt? What if he _is_ hurt? I--"

"Skipper!" The professor cut in trying to stem his friend's rising panic. "One thing at a time. What happened after the two of you set off?"

"We were making our way through the jungle when something hit me...I don't know what it was...I must have been out for hours! When I woke up, Gilligan was gone!"

"But the dear boy wouldn't leave you, Captain!" Mrs. Howell protested. "He's as loyal as a lapdog!"

"I know, Mrs. Howell! I wandered around looking for him...I was even lost for a few hours...but there was no sign of him! He must be in some sort of trouble! And the worst of it is, I don't even know where he was headed! I got knocked out before he could tell me!"

The Professor straightened, ready to take command. Somehow, even in pyjamas and with tousled hair, Roy Hinkley commanded respect. "We'll form search parties at once, Skipper. We'll find him."

"I say, before breakfast?" Howell made a basset hound face. "Surely we'd search better on a full stomach?"

The Skipper shook his head. "Howell, he may be hurt! We can't waste any time!"

Howell scowled. "Not even Gilligan would be ill-bred enough to be needing first aid before breakfast. I mean really!"

"Come on, folks," the Professor urged. "We must get dressed and get on our way as soon as possible. Mr. Howell, you, Mrs. Howell and Mary Ann take the bay on the west side of the island. Ginger and I will start north toward the mountains."

"And what about me?" insisted the Skipper. "I'm not staying here while my little buddy's out there in the jungle!"

"Yes you are, Skipper." When the Skipper tried to stand, the Professor increased the pressure on his shoulder. "We need someone here, in case Gilligan makes his own way back. If he comes back and finds the camp empty, he'll just leave again and search for us. We'd all be running around in circles." At the Skipper's look, the Professor added, "I'll tell you what, Skipper. If he comes back, light a big signal fire in the centre of camp. We'll see the smoke and know that we can return. All right?"

"Oh, all right," sighed the Skipper, holding his head. "Just hurry, everyone! I won't rest easy until I see my little buddy safe again!"

No sooner had the Skipper spoken when Gilligan burst out out of the jungle and into camp. "Skipper! Oh, Skipper, there you are! Am I glad to see you! What happened to you? I thought you were still out in the jungle somewhere!"

He skidded to a halt beside the Skipper, who had already jumped out of his chair. "Gilligan, little buddy! Where have you been all this time?"

Everyone else echoed the same question.

"Egad, m'boy! Where did you get to?"

"Yes, you silly boy, we've been desperately worried!"

"Oh, Gilligan, thank goodness you're all right!"

"Gilligan, what were you thinking?"

But the first mate couldn't answer any of them: crushed in the Skipper's bear hug, he could barely breathe.

"Perhaps if the Skipper will let Gilligan go, he will be able to elucidate as to his unorthodox undertaking," the Professor observed wryly.

The Skipper released his grateful, gasping little buddy, who nodded his thanks to the Professor. "I'll what?" he wheezed.

"Tell us where you went and what you did," the Professor explained, careful to use words of one syllable.

"Oh, yeah! I was up at the cliffs on the north end of the island! It took me all night to get back!"

The Professor's syllables took a quantum leap of fear. "Gilligan, that's a highly hazardous area! You could have been precipitated from a precipice!"

"Is that bad?"

"Gilligan!" the Skipper roared, terrified. "You could have fallen to your death!"

"But I didn't, Skipper! Oh, not that it wasn't close! The pirate ghost was there, all right! He chased me all over the place! But at the last minute, I was saved!"

"Saved?" they all echoed blankly.

"Yeah!" Gilligan beamed. "Wait t'ill I show you! I'll go get him!" He started to run towards the jungle when the Skipper grabbed his arm.

"Get who?" he demanded incredulously. "The pirate?"

Gilligan laughed as though that were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "No, of course not, Skipper!" He slipped loose and sprinted for the trees while the Castaways looked at one another in complete bafflement.

When Gilligan reached the dark fringes of the jungle he found the Lord Admiral standing behind the foliage, frowning at his white costume. Gilligan urged him out. "Come on! You can come out and meet them now!" He noticed the ghost's displeasure. "What's wrong?"

"It's my attire. Not formal and fitting enough for introductions. I feel I ought to change."

Gilligan looked dubious and scratched his head. "Well...anything I've got would probably fit you, but this is about as formal as I ever get!"

The Lord Admiral sighed. "It's well thought of, lad, but I can't help wishing I had my dress uniform here..." No sooner had he spoken those words when his whole form began to shimmer.

"What's happening to you?" gasped an astonished Gilligan.

"I've no idea!" gasped the equally astonished phantom.

And suddenly he wavered back into relative solidity, only now he stood resplendent in the full dress uniform of the 18th Century British Navy, in dark blue tailcoat, gold buttons, braids and epaulets, and in place of the white hat was a tall blue bicorn with white trim. The ghost surveyed his new appearance and grinned in delight.

"How'd you do that?" demanded his descendent.

"I haven't the foggiest! I'm still new to this ghost business, after all. But now that I am properly kitted out...pipe me aboard, lad!" And the ghost strode forward into the clearing, brimming with confidence, as his living counterpart tagged happily alongside him.

When they reached the table Gilligan swept his arms across in a grand gesture of introduction. "Here he is, everybody!"

The Lord Admiral swept off his bicorn and executed another perfect bow. "Your servant, ladies! Your servant, gentlemen! Allow me to introduce myself: Lord Admiral Gilligan, commander of the H.M.S. Fortitude. I bring you greetings in the name of his gracious majesty King George the Third and offer my services in the pursuit of the villainous pirate, Tom Scallion!"

Gilligan clapped wildly, like a child with the best show-and-tell ever. "Isn't he great? He's the ghost of my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather! He's an Admiral! Can you believe it? Wow, just look at him!"

The Lord Admiral smiled demurely, replacing his bicorn. "Stand down, lad. No need for all the fanfare."

"Oh." Gilligan grinned shyly, trying to calm down. He turned back to his friends. "Mary Ann, I don't know if he can eat anything, but would you mind setting another place for him at breakfast?"

None of the castaways said a word. In fact, nobody was even looking at the Lord Admiral. They were all looking at Gilligan the way campers look at a hungry bear, and backing up slowly.

"S-set a place for who, Gilligan?" stammered Mary Ann, half-hidden behind the Skipper.

At first Gilligan thought she was joking. "What? For the Lord Admiral here, Mary Ann! Who do you think I--" his question petered out as he saw his friends' expressions, and the light dawned.

The Lord Admiral was still in the dark. He stood frowning slightly, stroking his moustache. "Poor little maid. Is she blind?"

Gilligan looked incredulously from face to face. "Oh, no. No, I don't believe it! This is too much!"

"Oh, here we go again!" moaned the Skipper.

"What do you mean, 'here we go again?' Don't say it, Skipper! Don't tell me none of you can see him!"

The Lord Admiral was becoming alarmed. "Good heavens, lad, are they _all_ blind?"

The Professor stepped forwards, trying to keep his voice calm (which was not easy, with a frightened Ginger clinging to his back). "Gilligan, there is nobody there!"

_"And_ deaf? Did you strike the rocks so hard?" The ghost was horrified. "By Neptune, what a tragedy at sea!"

Ginger spoke up from behind the Professor. "Gilligan, listen to the Professor! There is no ghost!"

Gilligan flared. "Ginger, he's just as plain as the nose on your face!"

"_Oh!!"_

"Oh! Uh...Sorry, Ginger! I didn't mean it that way," he babbled. "But I don't understand it! Why can't anybody see him? He's standing right here, in full dress!"

"Which is more than can be said for this hussy!" the Lord Admiral remarked, lifting his lace handkerchief to his nose as though he smelled something distasteful. "What's the brazen trollop mean, sauntering about in no clothes but the bedclothes? And clinging to that fellow like a wet sail?"

"Lord Admiral, please!" Gilligan chided. "Ginger's my friend!"

The Lord Admiral's eyebrows rose. "I daresay she's been a friend to a good many sailors, lad."

By now the castaways had formed a wide half-circle and looked ready to race for cover at any moment. The Professor leaned over to the Skipper and whispered urgently. "Just keep him talking for a few more minutes! I'm going to get something!" Disengaging Ginger from his back, he slipped into the supply hut.

Meanwhile, Thurston Howell was keeping a protective arm around his wife as he backed up. "Egads, Lovey! Oh, what a feeble mind is here o'erthrown!"

"Keep your voice down, Thurston darling. Don't upset him!"

Gilligan turned on them, making them jump. "Mr. Howell, can't you see him? Can't you see all the gold braid?"

"Heavens to Trafalgar, my boy, I wish I could see it, if it's gold! Even if it isn't there!"

In desperation, Gilligan finally turned to the Skipper. "Skipper, you've got to believe me! We need your help!"

The Skipper laughed nervously, clutching at his hat. "Well...certainly, I'll do anything I can, little buddy! Why don't you ask you friend the Commodore--"

"Admiral," corrected Gilligan.

"Lord Admiral, actually," the ghost added.

"Lord Admiral, actually," Gilligan amended.

"Lord Admiral Actually--I mean Lord Admiral...ha ha...where this pirate's going to show up next?"

"Oh...good idea, Skipper!" Relieved that someone was finally listening to him, Gilligan had turned to address the ghost when the Professor suddenly emerged from the supply hut carrying a coconut cup.

"Gilligan," he called, walking over to him. "Before you do that, I need you to drink this vitamin complex. You've been though an ordeal and will need all your strength in order to stay alert. Now here."

"Thanks, Professor." Gilligan took the cup and drained it quickly. "Lord Admiral, where do you think that..." he stopped, swaying and blinking, and turned suspiciously on the Professor. "Wait a minute...Professor, isn't that the stuff you gave me the other...." and he slumped, unconscious, into the Skipper's arms.

The Lord Admiral drew back, surprised. "By Black Bart's beard! The lad certainly can't hold his grog. Perhaps we haven't bred as true as I thought!"

The Professor leaned his head against Gilligan's chest. "He's not faking this time, Skipper. He's really asleep! You'd better get him to bed, and then we'll have to discuss what to do next." He sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

The Skipper seemed near tears. "All right, Professor. Come on, little buddy." He lifted his first mate as though he weighed no more than a child and carried him into their hut. The Lord Admiral watched, eyes thoughtful. "You'll never make a pirate, sir. Not with a heart like that."


	9. Chapter 9

When Gilligan slowly stirred into wakefulness, he found himself in his hammock, which he didn't remember climbing into. By the look of the light, it was late afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, still groggy. "Skipper? What time is it?"

The voice that answered wasn't the Skipper's. "I make it about four bells, lad. You've slept most of the day away. Must have been pure Jamaican they gave you."

Woozily, Gilligan craned his head to see Lord Admiral Gilligan, still in full dress, leaning against the doorpost. Gilligan blinked, trying to clear his head. "Lord Admiral...where's the Skipper? Where are the others?"

"Oh, each one's about his own business. They held some sort of briefing earlier. And you're right: not a blessed one of them can see or hear me!" The phantom's eyes suddenly widened. "Blessed…Damn me, I've been as blind as a barnacle. Of course!"

"Unngh." Gilligan was only half listening. He groaned and slid awkwardly from the hammock, dragging the blanket with him. Bundling it blindly back into place, he stumbled to the water barrel and awkwardly ladled himself a cup. "You said they had a briefing? You mean like a meeting?"

"Mmmm? Oh, to be sure, they did. Seemed to be mainly about you, lad."

"Oh." Gilligan took a drink of water, grateful for its revitalizing cold. "Wh...what did they say?"

"Well...that scholar fellow was holding forth at great length, though I'll be hanged if I understood a word he said. He was prattling on about a battle between the Id, the Ego and the Superego. What are those, pray? Ships of the line? Sound jolly foreign to me."

Gilligan nodded his head wearily. "The Professor sounds foreign a lot of the time. What else did they say?"

"A great deal - the pretty little milkmaid was crying and said you were the sweetest fellow and it shouldn't happen to you; your captain was wringing his hands and saying it was all his fault; the rich lord and lady were offering to donate money for an asylum...oh-" the Lord Admiral scowled, trying to remember "-and what did the red-headed strumpet say? Oh, yes, that your plight reminded her of a picture she was in." He sniffed, moustaches curling in annoyance. "Why it should put her in mind of some portrait she sat for is beyond me, but even she seemed to take some pity on you." The Lord Admiral's eyebrows suddenly shot up like canon fire as a revelation struck him. "By Captain Kidd's compass! Do you know, lad - I think they think you're mad!"

Gilligan groaned again. He splashed some cold water on his face, dried it with a towel, and looked bleakly at the phantom. "That's just great! I thought everything was going to be all right when you turned up! Now it turns out everything's worse than ever!"

The Lord Admiral was a bit crestfallen. "Here...steady on, lad!"

At the Lord Admiral's wounded tone Gilligan changed his tack. "Oh, I know it's not your fault, Lord Admiral sir, and I know you want to help...but..."

The Lord Admiral saw his descendant's hesitation. "What is it, lad?"

"Well...well if the others are wrong and I'm not crazy, how come I'm the only one who can see you? Or Tom Scallion, come to think of it? I mean, maybe they're right..." Gilligan shivered visibly as he slumped down into a chair. "Maybe I am losing my mind!"

"What?" The Lord Admiral drew himself up, moustaches bristling, and strode over to Gilligan, arms akimbo. "What nonsense is this? I'll not stand for such lily-livered posturing on my ship--I mean, in my family!"

"But, Lord Admiral--"

"But me no buts! I know I'm here, in the flesh--" he paused and looked down at his glowing form. "Well, in spirit, anyway, and you know it too! Don't surrender to that lot just because you're outnumbered!"

Stung, Gilligan drew back. "I'm not surrendering! I'm just...confused, that's all." He shrugged, turning away. "I get that way a lot..."

"Balderdash. You have the Sight, and that means you see a damn sight clearer than most people."

Gilligan blinked. "The Sight?"

The Lord Admiral nodded sagely. "Aye. I should have realized it at once. T'is a gift, you see, a legacy of our ancient Irish blood. Only appears about once every ten generations, mind you, but sooner or later, one of us is blessed with the power to see ghosts, soothe savage beasts, dream in cryptic messages..."

This revelation took Gilligan by complete surprise. "Wow...really? And you think I've got it?"

"Well – " the ghost smiled. "You can see me, can't you?"

"Yeah! Wh- yeah, you're right!" Gilligan's face flushed with amazement and delight. "That's incredible! I have the Sight! I can see ghosts!" This took about two seconds to register before Gilligan gulped in horror. "Wh-what? I can? All of them? All the time? Wait a minute! I don't want to see ghosts! I don't want to hear them! I don't want to know anything about them!"

The ghost rolled his eyes. "Dashed flattering sentiments, I must say."

"Well, no, no, I don't mean like you, Lord Admiral. Nice ghosts like you are okay. It's the scary ones like pirate ghosts!" Gilligan began to shrill like the whistle of a kettle on a rolling boil. "You mean I'm going to see more of them? All my life?"

The Lord Admiral fixed him a long-suffering look, not unlike the Skipper's, and sighed. "Who can say? At any rate, if you haven't seen any other phantoms on your pretty isle in all these years, it follows that perhaps there just ain't any more to see. Don't get your sails all in a flutter, lad."

"Oh." That relaxed the first mate – just a little. "Well, what about you? Do you have the Sight?"

"Alas, no. I've all the sensitivity of a pewter mug. The first time I saw a spirit was only after I'd become one."

"Oh." Gilligan pondered the whole bizarre business again, shaking his head in confusion.. "But…how come I've had it all these years and never knew?"

"T'is said that the power of the Sight grows as one ages. But I've little doubt you've other hidden talents too, lad. You're a trifle too modest for your own good."

Gilligan's face suddenly fell further as a new complication struck him. "But the others don't have any special Sight. They can't see you or the pirate. How are we gonna manage when no one believes us?"

"Tush!" The Lord Admiral flashed his brilliant smile. "I believe in myself, lad. That's how I've always managed. This is no different, never fear."

The ghost's infectious confidence was a ray of hope for the beleaguered first mate. A trace of a smile crept cautiously across his face. "I guess so."

"Mmmm." The Lord Admiral stroked his moustache and glanced towards the window, looking thoughtful. "But perhaps we'd best sail under false colours, just for the time being."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that when we're with your shipmates, you'd best pretend I'm not here. Otherwise they'll keep slipping you grog 'til you can't see straight, or clap you in irons. And that would suit that rascal Scallion down to the ground!"

At the mention of the pirate Gilligan blanched. "But what'll we do if he comes back? I can't just sit there and let him hurt my friends!"

The ghostly admiral chuckled, absently straightening the lace on his cuffs. "Tchah. Let him try. You're forgetting, lad - you're with me now! And after all, two Gilligans are more than a match for any pirate!" He looked up at his living counterpart and smiled. "Come now, enough of that long face. On your feet, sir! Look alert! There's work to be done!"

Gilligan smiled back and jumped to his feet, saluting. "Yes, sir!"

There was a sudden soft tap at the door. "M-May I come in?" came a soft voice.

"Sure," Gilligan answered.

The blanket-draped door of the hut eased open to reveal Ginger, dressed in her flowered sarong. She flowed into the room and stood posed, shoulders back, one knee bent slightly forward.

"I-I thought I heard voices," she said, with just the slightest hint of a nervous laugh.

"Oh...but that was just--" a warning look from the Lord Admiral caught Gilligan just in time and he yanked his fingers down from the salute, wiping them on his shirt. "Oh, that was just me, Ginger. I was just thinking out loud, wondering where everybody was."

"Oh." The answer was like a sigh, and Ginger seemed to relax. She smiled gently and took a couple of steps nearer. "You know, we all really care for you, Gilligan. We just want to make sure you're all right."

"Oh, I know that, Ginger."

"And the Professor thought that maybe you might open up and talk to me about what's bothering you."

"Bothering me?" Ginger's proximity, dress and perfume was bothering him, but he couldn't say so. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Well, the Professor was trying to explain it to us, and he thinks the answer to your problem might be very simple."

The Lord Admiral snorted. "Eh? Putting paid to a pirate is simple? I'd say it's your scholar chap that's simple, lad."

Gilligan flashed a warning glance at the ghost, then smiled back at Ginger. "Wow-that's great, Ginger. What does he say the problem is?"

Ginger lowered her thick black lashes, then unleashed her basilisk eyes. "He thinks that the pirate and the admiral are all in your mind, Gilligan. You're trying to make yourself seem stronger - because you're a little jealous of the Skipper, that's all."

Gilligan was absolutely flabbergasted. "_The Skipper? _Ginger, what are you talking about? It's nothing to do with the Skipper!"

Ginger swayed forwards, smiling seductively. Her long fingers lightly touched his chest. "Oh, come on, Gilligan," she purred. "You can tell Ginger."

The Lord Admiral drew back, scandalized. "Why, the brazen trollop! Has she no shame?"

Gilligan shook his head, looked in the ghost's direction, and forgot that he wasn't supposed to acknowledge him. "You don't get it. All the men get this same treatment. It doesn't mean anything."

Ginger stopped dead. "What? Just what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Ack!" Gilligan backpedalled furiously. "Uh...no, look, Ginger, I wasn't..."

"Is that something the Skipper told you, so you'd never listen to me?"

"N-No, of course not!" In his nervousness, Gilligan forgot that loose tongues sink ships. "The-the Skipper's only said that whenever you were after me I should close my eyes and think of gutting fish!"

_"What!"_

The Lord Admiral tisked. "Scarlet woman, eh? You want to watch yourself, lad. The family has a reputation to consider--don't let her put a stain on it!"

"Nobody's going to stain my reputation!" Gilligan shouted, exasperated.

"Your reputation?" Ginger's eyes blazed. "Don't worry about it, Gilligan! You've got about as much reputation as a Victorian maiden aunt!"

"Ginger, I didn't mean it that way!"

"Then just what did you mean?"

"I say, saucy piece has got a tongue on her! Sharp as a cat-o-nine-tails!"

Gilligan couldn't take it anymore. "Cut it out, will you? I wish you'd just disappear!"

A split second later he realized his fatal error. Ginger took a step backwards, blood boiling, and slapped his face. "I've never been so insulted!" she cried, and stormed out.

Gilligan held his jaw painfully as he and the Lord Admiral watched her go. The Lord Admiral shuddered and dabbed at his face with a silken handkerchief. "Good thing you told her to be off, lad. Take my advice and never court a flame-haired wench. They've a fiery temper to match."


	10. Chapter 10

The Professor, Skipper and Mary Ann were anxiously waiting by the communal table when Hurricane Ginger hit. They had no more warning than they did for the storm that had shipwrecked them. "Well, Ginger?" the Skipper asked eagerly. "What did you find out? Let me have it!"

"I certainly will!"

"Ow!" The Skipper reeled and felt his jaw to see if it was still there. "Wh-what was that for?"

The tall redhead's look would have frightened a headhunter. "That was for what you've been telling Gilligan! To think of gutting fish whenever I talk to him!"

The Skipper floundered. "Well, yes, but that was...I mean...ep...well, Ginger, you've got to understand, Gilligan's not himself! He's saying all kinds of crazy things!"

"Hmmph. Well, Gilligan thinks I'm crazy now, thanks to this silly idea!" She turned her dagger eyes on the Professor. "Your idea, come to that! And you're the one who told me to sweet talk Gilligan into confessing to me! He actually told me to disappear! I've never been so humiliated!"

"Ginger, please!" the Professor urged. "I know we've been grasping at straws, but we've got to try everything we can! Now what did Gilligan say about my theory?"

"Your 'jealous of the Skipper' theory? He laughed at me! He said it was ridiculous!"

The Skipper sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. I couldn't bear the thought of my little buddy losing his marbles because of me!"

"I'm not sure how many he had in the first place, Skipper! But _you_ can try sweet talking him next time! You'll probably make more of an impression in a sarong than I did!" With that, the movie star spun on her high heel and stalked past them down the trail that led to the lagoon.

"Ginger, wait!" Clutching his hat with chagrin, the Skipper hurried after her.

A few seconds later the door to the crew's hut opened and Gilligan peeked out. "Is the coast clear?" he whispered.

Mary Ann couldn't help chuckling. "All clear. Oh, Gilligan, what did you say to the poor girl?"

"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings." Gilligan crept out and straightened up, relaxing when he saw that Ginger was gone. "She just misunderstood me, that's all."

The Lord Admiral, following him out, also visibly relaxed as he noticed Ginger's absence. "By Heaven. I'd sooner face all the pirates in Tortuga than that firebrand!"

Gilligan shushed him as unobtrusively as possible and slid onto a bench at the table.

The Professor looked carefully at him. "How are you feeling, Gilligan?"

"Okay, I guess. I'm a little hungry."

"I'm not surprised. Gilligan, I must ask you to forgive me for administering that sleeping potion without your knowledge. I hope you realize I would never take such a liberty except under the most extreme circumstances. The truth is, I feared you were temporarily non compos mentis."

The Lord Admiral winked at Gilligan. "Told you so. Non compos mentis. That's Latin, my boy. Means you're mad!"

Gilligan frowned slightly at the ghost, then turned back to the Professor. "Does that mean I'm crazy, Professor?"

"I'm still not certain as to the exact nature of your psychosis, Gilligan. It does seem to involve delusions and a deep-seated need for self-affirmation."

Gilligan shook his head. "I don't know what all that means, Professor, but I can tell you one thing. It's got nothing to do with the Skipper!"

The Professor shook his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Gilligan, I should have known better. I'm just trying to explore every possibility, no matter how remote! But there is one thing we've all agreed upon."

"What's that?"

Mary Ann rested a hand on Gilligan's shoulder. "That we don't need to be afraid of you. We know you've done some strange things lately, but you're the sweetest, most gentle person we've ever known, and you'd never hurt any of us."

The Lord Admiral smiled. "Aye - she carried the day on that point. She convinced them all."

The Professor continued. "And the fact that you just now acknowledged your dilemma is evidence that your psyche is becoming stronger. Now Gilligan, please don't pretend to go along with me this time. Will you give me an honest answer?"

"Sure...of course!"

"Do you see your pirate ghost now?"

"No, Professor," Gilligan answered honestly, apprehensive of the next question. The Lord Admiral, as if sensing it, strolled casually behind the first mate.

"And do you see the Admiral?"

Gilligan brightened, heaving a sigh of relief. "No, Professor. I can't see him now either."

The Professor straightened, smiling. "Thank you, Gilligan. I think there's light at the end of the tunnel." He looked off towards the trail that led to the lagoon and chewed his lip slightly. "And now, I think I'd better try to make amends with Ginger."

"Oh...well, will you make amends for me, too, Professor? I feel real bad for hurting her feelings." Gilligan tried to avoid looking at the Lord Admiral. "I'm kind of beside myself these days."

He missed the Lord Admiral's amused grin - and so did everyone else. The Professor merely nodded. "Of course, Gilligan. Do you mind, Mary Ann?"

"Of course not. You go ahead."

"Thanks." He patted Gilligan on the arm. "Get something to eat, Gilligan. I think you'll find sleep and food will work wonders for you."

Gilligan, Mary Ann and the Lord Admiral watched him head off down the trail. "Gee - I sure hope Ginger doesn't stay sore at me."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll get over it. Ginger really does care for you, Gilligan - we all do."

"Yeah, that's what she...said..." Gilligan's voice petered out as he looked up into Mary Ann's gentle, dark eyes. He suddenly thought the tropical sun felt very warm

and tugged at his collar. Fortunately, the delicious smell coming from the large pot simmering over the campfire provided a welcome excuse to change the subject. "Uh...what's in the pot over there, Mary Ann? Is that soup?"

"Oh, yes, it's the clam chowder from lunch. I kept some hot for you. You haven't eaten all day; you must be starving! Let me get you some."

"Boy, that'd be great. Thanks, Mary Ann."

The Lord Admiral watched with great interest as Mary Ann ladled out a bowl of soup and set it and a spoon in front of Gilligan. As the young first mate tucked in, his ghostly ancestor propped a booted foot on one of the benches and grinned. "Well...you're a lucky devil, and no mistake!"

"Hmmm?" Gilligan murmured, mouth full of soup, swallowing hastily as Mary Ann turned around with a questioning look on her face. "Hmmm--mmm! That's good soup, Mary Ann!" Gilligan fanned his tongue, trying to smile at the same time. "Nice and hot!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gilligan. I'll get you a drink."

As she hurried to the supply hut the ghost shook his head in delight. "I declare, I envy you, my boy!"

Not daring to openly acknowledge him, Gilligan ducked his head over his soup and muttered into his spoon. "Why? Because I can eat?"

The Lord Admiral threw back his head and laughed outright. "What? And to think I thought your shipmates were blind! I'm talking about the pretty milkmaid, you sea-cow! She's smitten with you!"

Gilligan jumped and nearly choked. "What?"

"It's in the blood, lad. The ladies never could resist us!" He leaned over to peer at Gilligan's left hand. "No ring, eh? So the little lass still stands a chance! Huzzah!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't be so modest, lad. She flutters over you like a butterfly drawn to nectar. And she defends you like a lioness. I heard her."

"Yeah, but—" Gilligan was no longer whispering. "But that's just the way she is. She thinks of me as a brother!"

"Tchah! And I'm Lady Hamilton!"

"Who's--" Gilligan had to gulp back his words as Mary Ann appeared with a bamboo tumbler. "Here you are, Gilligan." She set it down next to him and smiled. "Gee, I remember the day you found that cavern full of water. You saved all of our lives."

The Lord Admiral flashed a triumphant grin.

Gilligan tried to ignore him. "Oh--thanks." He took a quick drink but found his hand was shaking...and there was nary a pirate in sight. "And…thanks for what you said before, Mary Ann," he ventured. "I'm really glad you're not afraid of me. I'd never hurt you. I'd never let anything hurt you."

"That's sweet, Gilligan."

"Oh…well…not half as sweet as…" he faltered and blushed. "Gee..I better eat this soup before it gets cold!" He bent his head and scooped up spoonful after spoonful as the Lord Admiral rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for pity's sake, lad! Faint heart never won fair lady! Ease up on the rations and ask her to take a turn with you! Ain't there any pleasant prospects on this desert isle? Some romantic spot where you could sweep her into your arms and—"

"Aaaagh!" Gilligan dropped the spoon into the bowl.

Mary Ann was concerned. "Is it too hot, Gilligan?"

"Yes! I mean no!" Gilligan blinked and collected himself. "No, no, it's just fine, Mary Ann. I- I bit my tongue, that's all. Could I have a bit more water, though?"

"Of course." She looked searchingly at him for a moment, then took his cup and headed back to the supply hut.

Gilligan glared furiously at the Lord Admiral. "What happened to sailing under false colours, anyway! Are you trying to get me put to sleep again?"

"My apologies, lad. Just trying to put the wind in your sails."

"Well, you're going to take the wind out my sails at this rate!" He saw Mary Ann emerging from the hut. "Look, if I ask her, will you let up on me?"

The ghost brightened. "With the greatest of pleasure! Best of luck, my boy!"

Mary Ann didn't seem to notice anything was wrong as she handed him the cup. "Did you want any more soup, Gilligan?"

"Uh, no, Mary Ann. I wasn't really very hungry. It was great soup, though." He paused, drained the cup in one gulp, and made the plunge. "Mary Ann, would you like to go for a stroll with me?"

"A stroll? You mean right now?"

"Yeah…it'd be nice to talk with you alone."

She looked around, puzzled. "But we are alone!"

Gilligan winced and almost groaned. The Lord Admiral winked at him. "I think that's my cue to vanish, lad. Smooth sailing!" He rippled smoothly out of sight as Gilligan stood up.

"Oh yeah. Of course we are! But the others might come back any minute. I need a walk to clear my head - and there are lots nicer places on the island than this. Come on."

She smiled, intrigued. "All right."


	11. Chapter 11

"Now, Ginger, come on!"

Arms tightly crossed, Ginger stalked away from the Skipper as fast as her heels would allow. Behind them sunlight rippled on the waters of the lagoon and sparkled in the lagoon's little waterfall.

The Skipper followed her. "Now Ginger, just listen to me for a moment, will you? I didn't mean any harm by that gutting fish remark. I told him that a long time ago. He was just a naïve boy. For heaven's sakes, he still is! And you've got to admit, Ginger, you've used your charms on him more than once, especially when Mr. Howell wanted something out of him."

Ginger stood still, tapping her foot. She didn't quite meet the Skipper's eyes.

"Besides…it'd have to be something pretty dramatic to keep a man from thinking about you! Especially if he's anywhere near you!"

Now Ginger was fighting to stifle a smile, but couldn't quite manage it.

"And besides, Gilligan's sick. He's in real trouble. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty for him in the past – I know you have. We haven't got time to bicker now, Ginger. Please. We're the only hope he's got."

A moment later, a surprised and delighted Skipper found his arms full of beautiful movie star. "Oh, he's going to be all right, Skipper! Don't worry! We'll think of something!"

"Ahem…it would appear that all's quiet on the Western Front. Either that, or the Captain and Ginger are rehearsing the "don't leave me, Rhett" scene from Gone With the Wind." Thurston Howell came sauntering up the beach, his wife on his arm and the Professor following behind. "We ran into the Professor and heard that the two of you had a bit of a set to at camp. All forgiven and forgotten now?"

Ginger laughed, disengaging herself. "All forgiven and forgotten, Mr. Howell."

"Say – we're all here…then what did you do with Gilligan?" the Skipper asked, suddenly concerned.

"Oh, don't be alarmed, Captain," said Mrs. Howell. "Mary Ann's looking after him."

"How did he seem?"

"The signs are encouraging," answered the Professor. "He confessed that he could no longer see the strange apparitions. However, that may just be temporary. But the Howells and I have been discussing a plan that just might put Gilligan's ghosts to rest for good."

The Skipper beamed. "That's great, Professor! Let's hear it!"

"Oh, it's all so divinely clever!" chuckled Mrs. Howell. "All based on the power of suggestion! And of course, your acting, Ginger dear."

"My acting?"

"Precisely," said the Professor. "Since Gilligan's so determined to believe in ghosts, we'll humour him. We'll get rid of them in the obvious way: through an exorcism!"

The Skipper and Ginger looked at each other, then back at the Professor. "Wow," said the Skipper, scratching his head. "I knew you were a professor, but I never knew you were a priest too!"

"Of course I'm not, Skipper. But Ginger has appeared in many horror movies. Surely one of them must have involved some such ceremony!"

Flustered, Ginger searched her memory. "Well, I'm not sure. Let me see…wait! Wait, yes there was! It was about a ghost in an old castle! I made that picture a long time ago, though…"

"You'll be fine, Ginger! What do we need?"

The castaways huddled forward, giggling and whispering eagerly. "Oh, Thurston!" Mrs. Howell cried. "This is going to be such fun!"

********************

Gilligan and Mary Ann emerged from the dense jungle onto a clearing on a high ridge that fronted a stunning bay. The pair shaded their eyes as they looked out over the cerulean blue water as a warm sea-breeze gently ruffled their hair. Gilligan pointed across to where the tall, ribbed range of mountains sloped down to the dazzling white sand. Soft mist curled over the rippling green heights, while deep in the mighty fissures glinted hints of crystal waterfalls.

"Wow. Mary Ann, did you ever dream any place on earth could be so beautiful?"

Mary Ann looked up at the passion in her friend's voice, and saw that it was reflected in his eyes. He was gazing at the vista before them like a pilgrim at a shrine.

"I can never get over the island, you know," he murmured, half to himself. "It's like it's got a soul of its own. Just look at this bay – look at the colours! Did you ever see colours like that before? It feels like I can smell them, taste them, almost touch them. And the island's got moods too. They can change with the waves, the light, the mist, the wind….it's hard to explain." He pushed his cap up over his eyes, smiling self-consciously. "Gee – listen to me go on. You're gonna think I mess up those rescues on purpose!"

Mary Ann smiled and shook her head. "Gilligan, I don't think that. Nobody does."

"Because it isn't true, Mary Ann," he persisted, almost as though she hadn't spoken. "I miss home just as much as everybody else. But… I've never felt more alive than I feel here. Sometimes I think we were meant to come here. It was fate."

Mary Ann looked at him as though she had never seen him before. "Gosh. I never knew you were a philosopher, Gilligan. Or a poet." She took a deep breath and breathed in the heady perfume of plumeria and hibiscus. "And you're right. It is beautiful!" They walked to the edge and looked down the steep, treacherous slope that ended in a narrow, sandy cul-de sac. "Oh, will you look at those huge flowers right there below us! They must have bloomed like that in the Garden of Eden!" She started down the rocks to pick some.

"Be careful, Mary Ann!" Gilligan called out, when suddenly a voice as malevolent as a storm turned his stomach. "So - that strutting poppinjay left ye and your doxy on your own, did he? Such a jintleman. And such a fool."

Horrified, Gilligan saw the grim, grey, ghastly figure of the pirate ghost looming just beyond Mary Ann. The ghostly cutlass flashed out as the apparition moved towards Mary Ann with sickening speed. "Ye can't see me, darlin'. But I can see ye!"

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan shouted, lunging forward. Startled, she turned too quickly and lost her footing. She screamed as her feet skittered down on the rocks, but Gilligan seized one of her outstretched hands and yanked her towards him with such force that she snapped back like a yoyo, spinning into his arms. He held onto her, dragging her back from the slick rocks and the inexorably advancing pirate. "Keep back, Mary Ann! Keep back!"

"Gilligan!" she gasped, surprised at his strength, and assumed it was born of the fear that she would fall. "I'm all right now! We're far enough back from the rocks. We're safe!"

"Not by a long shot, me darlin', " snarled the buccaneer, stalking up the rocks. "I don't fancy this world bein' populated with a new damned generation of Gilligans. Better nip it in the bud, as they say."

Gilligan swallowed, unconsciously tightening his grip on Mary Ann, and kept moving backwards. "Mary Ann, we've got to get far away from here! Now!"

"Why?" she whispered, a little apprehensive now.

The fear in her voice chilled Gilligan more than the pirate ever could - because it was directed at himself. The pirate realized it too. "Ha-har! Aye! Tell her why, matey. I dare ye!"  
Gilligan's eyes blazed. Then inspiration struck as he spotted two huge logs floating in the water down below. "Look! There's crocodiles down there, Mary Ann! They might come after us any minute!"

_"Oh!" _ There were crocodiles on the island – Ginger and the Professor had seen them."Oh, my gosh! Let's get out of here!"

They turned and started sprinting furiously towards the jungle when the ghost called after them. "Ha! Think you're cunning, do ye? D'ye think you can outrun me?"

Gilligan remembered the speed with which the phantom could move and skidded to a halt, dragging Mary Ann to a stop as well. "Why are you stopping?"

He turned back, drawing his own cutlass. "You keep going, Mary Ann. I'll hold them off!"

Panting, she stared at him, horrified. "Gilligan, I'm not going to leave you here!"

The ghost was moving up the trail towards them with the slow, lithe grace of a jungle predator. Even the plants seemed to shiver as he passed them. Gilligan stood braced with Mary Ann behind him and the cutlass brandished in front of him. "Mary Ann, you've gotta go now! Please! Before--"

And suddenly they both felt a cold miasma sweep through them, like the first cold whip of air before a storm. They gasped and shuddered, disoriented, as Gilligan heard a welcome voice call out, "Scallion, you damned half-snuff! You've no sense of occasion, have you?"

And there between the two castaways and the pirate appeared the Lord Admiral, gathering solidity like an image in calming water. He looked back over his shoulder and flashed an apologetic grin at Gilligan. "My apologies, lad. Didn't realize anything was amiss until I heard you shouting." He turned back to the pirate, who was cursing bitterly. "Watch your language, sir! There's a lady present!"

"She can no more hear me than she can ye, ye puffed up sea squab! What's this to do with ye any road? Let the sprat fight his own battles!"

"I will, Scallion, and I'll wager my Dutch pistols he'll show his metal! But with foes of this world, not of the next!" He turned back to Gilligan. "Get the lass out of here. I'll deal with Scallion."

It was a hard call. Ghost though the Lord Admiral was, Gilligan was loathe to abandon a shipmate. But the passengers came first: that was what the Skipper had always drilled into him. And Mary Ann…Gilligan stood up, deliberately relaxing his stance. "Wait a second, Mary Ann. I don't see them. Maybe we outran them."

Mary Ann scanned the track with nervous eyes, clutching his shoulders. "I think you're right! I don't see them either. Oh, Gilligan, if it hadn't been for you!"

"She's putty in your hands, my boy!" sang the Lord Admiral, and he flew at the pirate, sword whirling. "Defend yourself, sir!"

The air soon rang with the sound of zinging blades – except that only Gilligan could hear it. "Mary Ann, I still want you go on back to camp."

"Why? Why aren't you coming too?"

"Uh…I'm going to use my cutlass to cut some brush and lay it across the trail. That way the crocodiles won't be able to follow it back to our camp. You run on ahead and tell the others what I'm doing, otherwise they'll worry." Mary Ann was looking rather worried herself; Gilligan forced a smile and patted her arm. "I'll be okay, Mary Ann. If the crocodiles come, I'll run. You know nobody runs faster than me."

"That's for sartain sure, ye coward!" sneered Scallion, in the midst of trading sword-blows with the Lord Admiral. "Never stand and fight, do ye? Jist up and run like a hare at the very sight of danger!"

"Hold hard, sir!" The Lord Admiral's lightning parry blocked blow after blow. "He's no coward. Did you not see him face you a moment ago?"

"I saw the back of him first," snarled Scallion.

Gilligan tried not to betray any reaction to Scallion's words. "Go on, Mary Ann. I don't think I could survive another one of the Skipper's bear hugs if he thinks I've gotten lost again."

"Okay." There was just the tiniest hint of a giggle. A small but surprisingly strong brown hand held his for an instant, then released him as Mary Ann dashed off down the trail. When he was certain she was gone, Gilligan spun, cutlass raised.


	12. Chapter 12

The two ghostly combatants were locked hilt to hilt and straining like fighting rams when a tremendous lunge by the Lord Admiral knocked the pirate off balance. Gilligan's ancestor grinned, pulling at his moustache. "Ha ha! Take that, you rogue!"

"Prancing dandy!" the pirate snarled. "Your luck'll run out yet, sprat! Hearken well – bring your shipmates here at sundown this day, or ye'll be the last man aboard!" And like a swirl of grey smoke, he vanished.

Gilligan blinked, used even as he was to these supernatural comings and goings. After a moment he let the cutlass drop to his side as the Lord Admiral strolled up, straightening his immaculate cuffs.

"Wow – you're not even out of breath!" Gilligan noted, a little jealous.

"Well, I've no breath to lose, have I?" The ghost laughed.

Gilligan looked at the spot where the pirate had vanished. "Did you hear what he said? How am I going to get the others to come here? What if they won't come?"

"Hmmm. T'is a pretty problem. They're hardly likely to come now that you've spun your little yarn about crocodiles."

Gilligan looked worried for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "No, they'll come. They'll be worried about me. They won't let me out of their sight for long."

The ghost nodded approvingly. A moment later he pulled a pout as he looked down the trail where Mary Ann had disappeared. "Damn the fellow. No sense of occasion at all! Just as you and the little milkmaid were getting on so splendidly."

Gilligan frowned. "I thought you said it was your cue to vanish!"

The Lord Admiral's grin was pure mischief. "I'm sure I'm neither the fool nor the gentleman Scallion takes me for, lad. You and the maid are far too valuable to lose. And I saw how she refused to leave your side. She's smitten, I tell you. Right 'round the maypole!"

Gilligan laughed scornfully. "Don't get your hopes up. What do you think Mary Ann thinks of me now? Like Scallion said, I sure am good at running!"

The Lord Admiral sniffed. "She couldn't hear him, you ninny! And anyhow, there's no shame in having damned good reflexes. I never yet knew of a sluggish swordsman who prevailed. That's our strength, lad! We move like the wind! We strike like the lightning!"

"And we run like rabbits!"

"Oh, poppycock! Did I not see you push the little maid behind you? Did I not see you prepared to die to save her?"

"But I didn't save her, did I? I couldn't protect her at all! You always have to come leaping out and fight my battles for me!"

When the Lord Admiral blinked in dismay, Gilligan backed down. "I'm sorry, Lord Admiral. I don't mean to complain – heck, that's the second time you've saved my life. But I'm tired of Scallion pushing me around! I know you mean well, but _I _want to stop him next time, not just watch from the sidelines!"

"But how could you possibly fight him? You don't know the first thing about it!"

"You could teach me!" Gilligan's blue eyes lit with steely determination. "I've seen you handle a sword. You make it look so easy!"

The Lord Admiral was aghast. "But it ain't easy! Swordplay is an art! I'd had years of training! You couldn't possibly –"

"Please, Lord Admiral!"

The Lord Admiral shook his head. "You've all the wild courage of our line, lad, for good or ill. Very well, I'll teach you. But mark this: you can't fight Scallion on his terms. You've got to find your own way, whatever that may be."

For a moment the twin Gilligans were silent. Then the ghost smiled and beckoned towards the ridge and its view. "Come on, lad. The little maid was right: you're quiet a poet. I've a mind to stop and gaze upon this little kingdom of yours."

They sat down on a great flat stone and gazed out across the water. The Lord Admiral sighed. "It puts even our own ancestral Emerald Isle to shame…England too, I'll be bound. This other Eden, demi-paradise…this precious jewel, set in a silver sea…" He looked over and noticed that his descendent wasn't following him. "That's the Swan of Avon, lad!"

"Hmm?" Gilligan shaded his eyes and looked down at the water. "No, we don't get swans here. See the big bill? I think that's a pelican."

"Oh, by Drake's drum, not the bird! I meant the Bard! You do know Shakespeare, surely!"

"Oh, yeah. He's the guy who wrote Hamlet."

The ghost brightened. "Why, my favourite play! Do you know it?"

"Yeah." Gilligan began to sing softly. "I ask 'to be or not to be. A rogue and peasant slave is what you see." He glanced over at his ancestor, who seemed surprised at hearing Hamlet sung. Gilligan sighed. "Sometimes I think I know what Hamlet meant. Boy, I sure wish I was like you, Lord Admiral."

The ghost raised his eyebrows. "We're as like as two peas in a pod, lad."

"No, no, not like that. I mean what you're like on the inside. You're brave and daring and dashing –"

"And dead."

That simple word brought Gilligan up short. "Oh yeah…I keep forgetting," he mumbled lamely.

The Lord Admiral smiled sadly. "So do I. I mean to say…all the rest of what you say is true enough but…hang it all, like me on the inside?" He tried to rest his hand on Gilligan's shoulder, but the hand sank into the flesh and vanished. Gilligan shuddered slightly as a cold vapour seemed to make its way down his ribs. Then the phantom withdrew his hand, still whole. "I haven't got any insides, lad. I'm dead. Dear God, I was dead at twenty-five. I never reached home!"

Gilligan's eyes widened as he realized how close to that age he was himself. It also made him think of the one thought he tried never to think of: that everyone back home believed he was dead, too. No, no, they knew he was alive. They had to. They just had to. He shook himself as though trying to dispel a gloomy cloud, then saw that the ghost was caught under his own. "But…but you became famous. You left a legend behind you!"

"And a wife. And an infant son." The ghost stared out across the water, the beauty invisible to him now. "They had to go on without me. But…they…they must have made out all right; after all, the line wasn't broken. You're proof of that. My son did live long enough to marry." The Lord Admiral looked up at him, blue eyes anxious in a way Gilligan had not seen before. "I wonder if you'd know his name? William Francis Gilligan?"

"Of course I know it. I'm named after him! First, middle and last."

"You don't say!" The Lord Admiral brightened visibly. "Why, my boy, I'm delighted! Perhaps he was the cut of your jib. Hope so, anyhow. Did you ever hear of what became of him?"

"Uh-huh. He was a great captain just like you. He had a big family and lived to a ripe old age."

"Truly? Oh – oh, lad. Thank you. Thank you for saying that."

"You're welcome." Gilligan paused, looking searchingly at his ancestor. "Lord Admiral, don't give up. I never have."

"Give up what, lad?"

"Believing that you'll see your family again. I know we will, someday. You've got to keep believing."

The Lord Admiral sighed. "As the Bard would say, "I would, if I were human…We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded in a sleep."

The unlikely pair sat silent for a time, gazing out at the green primeval mountains as the sun dappled them in light and shadow. Then at last the Lord Admiral shook himself and stood up. "Right – we've dallied long enough. There's work to be done."


	13. Chapter 13

"Gilligan! Mary Ann! We're back!"

The Professor, Skipper, Ginger and the Howells strolled happily into camp expecting a return greeting. Instead, they were greeted by silence. Everybody looked around, puzzled. "Gilligan? Mary Ann?"

"That's odd," said the Professor. "They were here at the table when I left them."

"Maybe they're inside," said Ginger, and lifted the shutter over her window's flower box. "Mary Ann?"

The Skipper pushed open his bamboo door but saw nothing but empty hammocks. "Gilligan!" he called, and soon searched the whole hut as if in some vain hope Gilligan was hiding in the food locker.

The Howells and the Professor came up empty as well. "Did anyone see a note?" asked the Professor. But nobody had.

"Maybe they went looking for us," said Ginger.

"No, they saw us take the trail to the lagoon. They would have met us coming back."

"By George, that boy has vanished again. And this time he's taken poor Mary Ann with him!"

. The Skipper was becoming agitated. "Professor, where could they have gone?"

"I don't know." He looked at Mary Ann's cooking area. "But they obviously didn't leave in any hurry. The campfire's out and she's washed the dishes. It even looks as though she gave Gilligan some lunch. I don't think there's anything to worry about, Skipper."

"Nothing to worry about! Gilligan and Mary Ann have gone off who knows where all alone together, with Gilligan in the state he's in, and you're telling me there's nothing to worry about?"

"Oh dear, Captain," said Mrs. Howell, "didn't you have a chance to speak to Gilligan about the birds and the bees?"

The Skipper rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Mrs. Howell, I didn't mean that! Why I'd be much less worried if I thought Mary Ann and Gilligan had just gone off somewhere to…to…ep…" The Skipper looked as though the whole Japanese fleet had just loomed up on the horizon.

"Captain?"

"Oh, brother. Thanks, Mrs. Howell. Thanks a lot. Now I've really got nothing to worry about!"

Thurston Howell quickly took his beaming wife by the arm and steered her towards their hut. "Come along, Lovey. Let's get that book that Ginger wanted."

"But Thurston, what if Gilligan and Mary Ann are simply—"

"Come along, my dear!"

As the Howells vanished into their hut Ginger looked at the Professor and Skipper. "I guess I'd better come up with some kind of costume. Wish me luck!" She vanished into her hut a moment later.

The Professor beckoned to the Skipper. "Come on, Skipper. The others items we talked about are in the supply hut."

As they ducked inside, the Skipper shook his head. "Oh, Professor, what do I have to do to keep him out of trouble? Wrap him up in a fish net? Chain him like an anchor?"

The Professor laughed. "I daresay we'd find life on the island pretty dull if we did."

"Oh, boy, I could use a little dullness just about now!" The two men collected some bamboo poles, a blanket, some torches, the Minnow's bell and hammer, and some phials of powder. When they came out they found Ginger dressed in her long gypsy peasant skirt and blouse, her red hair veiled by a long, sequined scarf. "How do I look?" she asked hopefully.

The Professor nodded eagerly. "That's perfect, Ginger. You've got the candle?"

"Right here."

The Skipper shook his head. "Professor, do you really think we can pull this off? I mean, you put on a good act, Ginger, but Gilligan's seen you do your magic schtick before. Do you really think he'll fall for it?"

The Professor shrugged. "To believe in an exorcism, you have to believe in ghosts. Gilligan certainly does. Perhaps if we work with what he believes this time instead of what we believe, we'll finally get somewhere"

The Skipper noticed one last item the Professor was carrying. "What's that you've got, Professor? Is that something for the exorcism too?"

Ginger stared as the Professor struggled to unfold the long, rusty tube he was carrying. When he finally got it open it sagged forward at one end. "If that's the Minnow's telescope, no wonder we're lost!"

"It's not the Minnow's, Ginger. It's about two hundred years old. I found it up on the cliffs Gilligan said he visited last night. I thought that having it and the pirate cutlass at the exorcism might add to its credibility."

The Skipper shook his head. "Well, I hope you're right, Professor. But to find the cutlass we have to find Gilligan – wherever he is!"

"Skipper! Everybody!"

They all turned in surprise as Mary Ann came racing out of the jungle. She reached them and leaned on the table, trying to catch her breath. The Skipper hurried up and took her gently by the shoulders. "Mary Ann! Thank goodness! Where've you been?" He looked hopefully over her shoulder at the jungle, expecting to see the familiar red and white of Gilligan's shirt and hat. But there was no one. "Mary Ann – where's Gilligan? Isn't he with you?"

"He was," she gasped. "We walked up to that pretty little bay on the western side of the island. The one with the steep ridge that slopes down to the water."

"What for?"

She looked embarrassed for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know - he wanted to, Skipper. He just wanted to show it to me. He said it was one of his favourite spots because it's so beautiful and so magical…" she stopped, flustered. "And it is – except then we saw the crocodiles."

"Crocodiles!" They all chorused, horrified.

"Well, Gilligan saw them, I didn't. But oh, Skipper, he saved my life! He pulled me away from the rocks and we ran away down the trail. He was going to fight them and hold them off, but they hadn't followed us. So he stayed to cut some brush and barricade the trail and he told me to come back and tell you where he was."

The Skipper clutched at his hat, panicking. "Crocodiles! My little buddy's alone with crocodiles? He couldn't handle a near-sighted sea turtle, much less a crocodile!"

"Now wait, Skipper." The Professor grabbed the Skipper's arm before he could take off. "I know there are crocodiles on the island, but we've never seen any over there. The tide's too strong for them. I don't think he saw any at all."

"You don't? Oh, thank goodness!" the Skipper felt weak with relief.

"But Professor, he was terrified! Why would he say he saw them if he didn't?"

The Professor frowned. "I'm afraid this may be just another hallucination, Mary Ann. Gilligan's delusions are multiplying at an alarming rate. We'd just better hope this works."

At that moment the Howells emerged from their hut. They had changed into formal evening wear, and Mr. Howell carried a large, leather-bound, gilt-edged volume under his arm. "Lovey and I have the book, Professor. Why, Mary Ann, my dear, you're back! What a relief!"

Mrs. Howell peered through her lorgnette. "But you surely don't mean to attend the exorcism dressed like that, do you, my dear? I mean, it is an evening performance, after all."

"Exorcism?" Mary Ann repeated, completely confused.

"We'll explain as we go, Mary Ann. The Professor turned to the Skipper. "We won't be back before nightfall, Skipper; you'd better bring some torches. Mary Ann, lead on. Operation Exorcism is underway!"


	14. Chapter 14

"I knew this was a mad notion."

"Please, Lord Admiral? Once more?"

The sun was setting at the far side of the bay, flashing orange fire into the darkening sky and bathing the rugged mountains in an unearthly glow. An orange-gold pathway shone over the creaming water, beckoning to another world.

In the clearing on the ridge Gilligan stood side-by-side with the Lord Admiral, cutlass drawn. His ancestor passed a ghostly hand over his face in exasperation, then nodded. "All right, lad. Once more. Now keep your legs bent, so your weight can shift as need be. Keep your wrist firm. Now follow me: en garde!" The Lord Admiral struck the classic stance, left leg straight back, front leg bent to the knee, sword extended.

"En garde!" Gilligan lunged with his cutlass and stomped his right leg down furiously – so furiously that his sneaker slid on the soft earth and he performed a perfect ballet split. "Ow!"

The Lord Admiral groaned. "Just plant your foot, lad! Don't stamp like you're putting out a fire on deck!"

Gilligan grimaced as he painfully dragged his left leg forward to lie parallel with his right. "Oh…I hurt in places where I didn't even know I had places!"

"Balderdash! We've only been at this an hour!" The Lord Admiral looked awfully worried and shook his head. "I tell you, you'd best leave Scallion to me. At this rate you'll not be able to walk, much less fence!"

The young sailor struggled to his feet. "No. I told you, I want to learn this. I'm going to stop him this time!"

"But hang it all, lad - look at the sun! Time and the tide wait for no man. Scallion may return within the hour!"

"Please, Lord Admiral. Give me another chance!"

The Lord Admiral fingered his rapier and sighed. "I'd say you haven't a ghost of a chance, my boy. But as you wish. Let's see the en garde once more."

Gilligan took the stance again, more gently this time, and grinned when he stayed upright. The Lord Admiral nodded encouragingly. "Well done. Now, imagine Scallion stands before you, blade drawn. Give me a remise, followed by a ballestra!"

Gilligan charged forwards, flailing the cutlass about him in wild swaths and yelling like an Apache on the warpath.

"No!" The Lord Admiral shouted. "I said a remise! Not a fleche! Don't run! Stand your ground!"

By now Gilligan had barreled into the jungle and was attacking the foliage. A tangle of vines snaked down and snarled themselves about his rotating limbs until at last he could barely move. The Lord Admiral stalked over, shaking his head. "For pity's sake, lad. It's not a cavalry saber, nor a machete, come to that! You can't just whirl your blade about like a Dutch windmill!" He watched patiently as Gilligan struggled to hack the vines away from his arms and legs. "The cutlass is a sailor's weapon, meant for fighting on shipboard, at close quarters. No room for sprints or sweeping blows! Just short, quick strokes and thrusts. And never, never fight in anger!"

The last of the vines swished to the ground as Gilligan stepped clear of the rustling mass at his feet. "But I am mad at Scallion. He said he was going to hurt my friends! And why would I fight somebody if I wasn't angry with them?"

"I meant don't let your anger master you, lad. Let it be the wind that fills your sails, not the hand that turns your wheel. Keep your temper, and you'll hold your course."

"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan snapped his hand up in a quick salute and cracked his temple with the cutlass's hilt. "Ow!"

The Lord Admiral sighed. "Thank Providence we haven't got a canon." Suddenly they heard a chorus of calls from the jungle. "Gilligan! Gilligan, where are you?" Both Gilligans looked towards the source.

"Your forecast was spot on, lad. They're coming. Now look alive – no pun intended." And the ghost grinned in spite of himself.

Gilligan and the ghost moved out into the clearing. A moment later the castaways emerged from the jungle, carrying a strange array of gear. They all smiled with relief on seeing their friend. "Gilligan, little buddy! Thank heavens you're all right!"

Gilligan smiled and tried to look nonchalant. "Of course I am, Skipper. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I told them about the crocodiles, Gilligan, and how you stayed to make sure they wouldn't follow us," said Mary Ann.

"Yes," the Professor added, "She said you were going to cut some brush to bar the trail, but the trail was clear when we came up. We were afraid something might have happened to you."

"Oh…" Gilligan tried to think of something. "Uh…well…I never saw the crocodiles again. I thought I might have made a mistake." He glanced back into the bay and spotted the two long, dark shapes in the water. "Look, there, you see? In the water down there? They're just a couple of floating logs, that's all. I guess I scared Mary Ann over nothing. Sorry, Mary Ann."

The castaways craned their necks to look over the edge, and then looked at each other. The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Well, I must say from here I suppose those logs could be mistaken for crocodiles. It's all right, Gilligan. An honest mistake, that's all.

The Skipper frowned. "But then what have you been doing here all by yourself all this time? We were worried about you!"

Gilligan was lost again. He shrugged desperately. "Oh…I don't know. Just thinking, Skipper! I like to come here to sit and think."

"Or just sit," Mr. Howell murmured, a little louder than he meant to.

The Skipper glared back at him for a moment, then back to Gilligan. "Well, anyhow, little buddy, the Professor's got an idea to help you. I think we're going to be able to clear up this ghost business once and for all!"

"Really, Skipper?" He looked at the castaway's gear. "Is that what all that stuff's for?"

"Yes, Gilligan," said the Professor. "I realized that I've been too conventional in my analysis of your dilemma. I'm now proceeding on the hypothesis that your supernatural phenomena may have a basis in fact."

The Lord Admiral looked as baffled as his descendent. Gilligan remembered to ignore him. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"I mean that I must consider the possibility there really are such things as ghosts. After all, as Shakespeare said, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

The Lord Admiral was delighted. "You know, lad, I like your scholar chap more and more!"

Gilligan was too flabbergasted to be delighted. "You mean you believe me, Professor? You actually believe me?"

"Yes. And if we're fighting a ghost, we must use the tools of the trade." He indicated Ginger, dressed in her gypsy costume. Beyond them, the Skipper was spiking four tall bamboo poles into the ground. Within the square they enclosed was a small table draped with an orange tablecloth. Mr. Howell set the book and candle on the table, and next to them Mary Ann placed the Minnow's bell and two seashells filled with powder. Mrs. Howell stood by with a large red blanket folded over her arm.

"What are they up to, lad?" said the Lord Admiral. "Looks dashed mysterious."

"What's all this, Professor? Why's Ginger dressed like that?"

Ginger answered for him. "I made a lot of horror movies in Hollywood, Gilligan, and learned a lot about this kind of thing. We've brought the bell, the book and the candle and I'm ready to perform the ceremony."

The Lord Admiral shook his head. "Great heavens. Is the strumpet a witch as well?"

Gilligan tried to elbow the Lord Admiral into silence, but only made contact with a cold mist. 'What ceremony?" he demanded.

"An exorcism," said the Professor.

Both Gilligan and the Lord Admiral gaped in horror. "A what?" they both chorused.

The Professor only heard one of them. "Of course. Ginger knows the ancient rite. She'll perform the chant and if it really is a ghost that's bothering you, this will be certain to get rid of it!"

This time Gilligan forgot himself and did a double take at his ancestor. "But – but why would I want to be rid of him?"

The Professor was puzzled. "Gilligan, you said this pirate ghost has been terrorizing you and threatening us. Don't you want to be rid of him?"

"Well, rid of _him_, yeah, but not –" he paused. "Professor, are you sure about this?"

"Trust me, Gilligan. Now you just wait here while we set things up."

Gilligan and the Lord Admiral sat back down on the flat rock as the Professor and Ginger went over to the others. They were now flinging the red blanket over the poles to form a canopy and lighting tiki torches nearby for light. The Lord Admiral's brow furrowed. "I don't know what they're playing at, lad, but I doubt your flame haired vixen can perform an exorcism."

"I know," Gilligan whispered. "Lord Admiral, Ginger's a good person. She does these magic tricks for us sometimes, but they're just tricks. Ginger's not a witch; she's a real lady."

The Lord Admiral smiled. "If you say so, lad, I'll fight a duel with any man who says it ain't so. Still, there's skullduggery afoot, I'll be bound. I wonder what they're up to."

Under the canopy, Ginger lit the tall candle in its rum-bottle holder. Mr. Howell presented her the book with great ceremony. "Here you are, Ginger my dear."

"Oh, that's great, Mr. Howell. This'll really do the trick. I—" Ginger stopped as she read the title. "Uh…"

The Skipper saw her reaction. "Ginger? What's wrong?"

"It is a first edition," Mrs. Howell pointed out.

Ginger was still looking at the book in disbelief. "The World's Best Cocktail Recipes?"

Howell looked affronted. "Well, if you're chasing up spirits, it's the very thing! There's a recipe in there for a dry martini that—"

"Oh! You two!" snapped the Skipper. "You can't just use any book in an exorcism! It's supposed to be a Bible!"

Mr. Howell tried to bluster. "Oh, dash it all, Ginger. I do wish you'd been more specific!"

"Oh, no," said Mary Ann. "There is mine, Skipper, but it's back at camp! We haven't time to get it!"

The Professor raised his hands to calm them. "Take it easy, everyone. It's not a real exorcism, after all. Ginger, you'll just have to improvise. Come on, everyone, take your places."

With a last despairing look on her face, Ginger fixed the veil over her head, set the book on the table, and tried to look solemn.

"Something wrong over there?" called Gilligan from the rock as he and the Lord Admiral craned their necks to see what the matter was.

"No, Gilligan!" they chorused, wreathed in smiles. "Come on over! We're ready to start!"

Gilligan and the Lord Admiral approached cautiously. When they got closer they noticed that one more item had been added to the table: a rusty telescope. The Lord Admiral stared. "My telescope! What's it doing there?"

Gilligan looked at the Professor. "Professor? Why'd you bring that here?"

"It's all part of Ginger's preparation, Gilligan. Watch."

Ginger took a pinch of pink powder from one of the shells and flicked it at the candle. A heady scent of incense filled the air. "Oh hear me, spirits of Kitchitomie," she intoned, raising her hands. "I conjure you, by the power of the bell, the book and the candle, to hearken to my command!"

The Skipper picked up the ship's bell and tapped it solemnly. The sharp, clear note echoed in the twilight. Gilligan and the Lord Admiral looked at each other, and looked all around.

"The book," commanded Ginger. Mr. Howell held it up and opened it for her. She turned a few pages, frowning ever more as she turned, then composed herself. "I conjure thee by the spirits which I name for all to hear! I name thee, Bloody Mary—"

The Lord Admiral and Gilligan raised their eyebrows, impressed.

"I name thee, Tom Collins—" Ginger swallowed and flipped a page. "I name thee, Harvey Wallbanger—" she grimaced and looked around, trying to remain serious. "Answer my summons and appear!"

The Lord Admiral peered at the book. "I say – ain't that supposed to be a Bible?"

The Professor signaled to Ginger, winked at the others, and surreptitiously pointed to the other shell. Ginger took a pinch of powder and flicked this at the candle, careful to look the other way. Light blazed up and smoke billowed, setting the castaways coughing. The Lord Admiral, the only one who wasn't affected, looked out beyond the canopy and gasped. "By heavens, lad, perhaps she is a witch! But she's supposed to drive out spirits – not conjure them up!"

Gilligan looked and gasped too, instinctively clutching the cutlass tighter. There between the torches, laughing his deep cruel laugh and glowing like a disease ridden swamp, stood the pirate ghost.

Suddenly the castaways all began to look in the direction that Gilligan was looking with expressions of horror on their faces.

"Oh, my! There he is!" cried Mrs. Howell.

"Heavens to Long John Silver, what a dastardly looking fellow!"

"Good heavens! There really are such things as ghosts!"

"Gilligan, little buddy, you were right! I'm sorry I ever doubted you!"

Gilligan stared at them, his face alight with astonishment and joy. "You mean you can see him! You can actually see him? That's great! You see? I wasn't going crazy!"

The pirate stroked his thick, greasy beard, narrowed his one eye, and fixed it on Gilligan. "So, sprat – ye brought your scurvy crew after all. Are ye willing to fight for them? Or are ye going to let that high-born nursemaid there fight for ye again?"

Emboldened, Gilligan hefted the cutlass. "I know how to use this now, Captain! You think you're going to hurt my friends? Over my dead body!"

"That's what I'm afraid of, lad," murmured the Lord Admiral as he clutched his rapier hilt.

The Professor urged the others on in a whisper. "That's it, folks. Keep it up!" He raised his own voice. "Pirate ghost! Gilligan has the power to defeat you. Your days are numbered!"

Gilligan flashed the pirate a look of triumph. "You see?"

The pirate spread his arms. "Why don't ye try to stop me, then? Come on, puppy. Here I am waitin' for ye!"

"Go and get him, Gilligan!" cheered the Skipper.

That was enough. "En garde!" Gilligan charged for the pirate, cutting such wide swaths with the cutlass that the castaways all leapt back in alarm.

"No, lad! Remember, close quarters!" cried the Lord Admiral, but Gilligan ignored him.

"Ataboy, Gilligan! You can do it!" roared the Skipper.

"By Jove, son, give him a taste of his own medicine!" called Mr. Howell.

Gilligan galloped about the clearing lunging at the pirate. Meanwhile, Scallion kept backing up, laughing, keeping just out of reach. "Come and get me, sprat! Come on!"

"Ha ha! You're afraid to taste the cold steel of my sword!" Gilligan caroled, striking a brief heroic pose before gallivanting into action again.

The Lord Admiral groaned in dismay. "Don't talk, lad, fight! Wherever did you learn such silly posturing?"

"Oh, Gilligan, you're a hero!" cried Mary Ann, clasping her hands and jumping up and down. The Lord Admiral stared at her in horror.

"Stop it, lass! Don't egg him on! Scallion'll fillet him like a salmon!"

Mary Ann acted as though she hadn't heard the Lord Admiral at all. "That's the way, Gilligan!"

"Dear God, lass, don't he mean anything to you? I thought you—" the Lord Admiral stopped as he realized Mary Ann wasn't looking at him. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Lass?" She didn't bat an eyelash. The Lord Admiral's eyes blazed and he turned and dashed to the others, waving at them in succession. Not one took any notice of him. "It's a trick, lad!" he cried. "They're all playacting again! They can't see the scoundrel! Don't listen to them!"

"I'm gonna beat him!" Gilligan shouted, intoxicated with the praise of his friends and the thrill of the battle. He pelted towards the glowing form of the pirate, who stood, weapon sheathed now, arms akimbo.

The Lord Admiral saw where he was heading. "The edge!" he yelled in horror. "Mind the edge, lad! It's right behind him!"

Gilligan saw it just in time and skidded to a stop, his feet shooting out from under him. He lay sprawled in the grass, the cutlass in front of him, as the pirate whipped away with fearful speed and headed for the canopy.

The Lord Admiral closed his eyes in relief. "Thank God," he whispered.

The castaways had also seen Gilligan's near brush with death and stood shocked silent for a moment. The Skipper's eyes were huge. "My gosh, Professor, he nearly went over! Can't we get this thing over with before he hurts himself?"

"Or someone else?" said Mr. Howell.

"Yes! Come on, Ginger, let's move on to the next part. Everyone, keep up the act!"

Ginger flicked a few pages in the book again and held up her hands. "Pirate spirit! Hear me! By the power of the…squeeze of lemon…uh…no, the splash of.. I mean the jigger of… Bacardi, Kahlua and Pina Colada, I conjure you to vanish!" She flung up her hands and threw back her head, craning it backwards slightly to see what Gilligan was doing. The Skipper rang the bell once more.

Gilligan raced back to the canopy and stood poised facing the pirate, cutlass still upraised. The Professor warned the others back. "Go on, everyone," he whispered. "Give him lots of room. We don't know what he'll do now."

The castaways spread backwards, moving out from under the canopy. The Lord Admiral hurried up beside Gilligan. "Lad, listen to me! I tell you they can't see him! They can't see me! Pay them no heed!"

Disconcerted, Gilligan frowned, looking from his ancestor to the pirate and back again. "Why would they lie to me?" he murmured.

"I'll warrant they've the best of intentions, but they're playing right into Scallion's hands! He's trying to goad you into rashness! Remember what I said! Never fight in anger!"

Scallion heard him and looked across to where the castaways were slowly moving apart. He saw Mary Ann getting dangerously close to the edge, and his one eye lit. "Tell me, sprat," he purred, "what's yon pretty little wench like between the sheets?"

The words froze the first mate. "_What?_" he whispered.

"You've a fine taste in female flesh, sprat, I'll lay to that. I mean to have her warm me berth tonight – whether she be willing or not!"

It took Gilligan a moment to realize what he meant. Then his face twisted in a tigerish snarl. "Why, you—"

The pirate leered. "What are ye going to do, matey? I'm dead, remember?"

"Not dead enough!" Gilligan roared, and took a wild swipe that went right through the ghost. The blow threw Gilligan off balance, sending him spinning past the bamboo poles. He sheared one off in his wild flight, and the canopy sailed down over Ginger and the Skipper. The Skipper, fighting it off, threw the bell away to free his hands.

It sailed through the air, straight towards Mary Ann. She ducked to avoid it, hopping back onto the edge of the ridge. All at once the dead roots beneath her foot broke and crumbled away.

There was a scream, and suddenly there was no Mary Ann.


	15. Chapter 15

"Mary Ann!" Before the others could even react Gilligan dove for the stricken girl, hurling himself over the edge in his bid to catch her hand. He did grasp it, but their combined momentum sent them tumbling wildly over and over in a shower of dirt and stones as the others watched in horror.

"Mary Ann! Gilligan!"

For a few moments there was nothing but a blur of arms and legs careening down the steep slope in a roiling cloud of dust. At last the pair hit the beach, rolled a few yards and lay motionless as the last of the little avalanche settled over them.

"At last!" Scallion roared with glee. "I thought the little gadfly would never go over!"

The Lord Admiral shouted frantically at the still forms below. "Get up, lad! That's an order! I absolutely forbid you to join me!" He rounded on the pirate in rage. "So that explains this little dance – and your infernal fondness for clifftops! That blow went straight through you, and surely yours would go straight through him! Blast me for a fool for not seeing it myself! Our ghostly weapons can't harm mortal flesh, you old fakir!"

Scallion smirked. "True for ye. T'was plain that first morning when he fell off the breakfast board that me blade couldn't touch him. I've had the very devil of a time tryin' to lure him to his end, but his shipmates made fine bait."

The Skipper had caught hold of a small tree growing on the edge of the cliff and began to lower himself down. "Hang on, little buddy! I'm coming!"

"No, Skipper! It's useless!" The Professor grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me!" The Skipper yanked his arm away with such force he almost sent both of them skittering down the slope.

But Roy Hinkley hung on. "It's far too steep and treacherous, Skipper! You'll never reach them! You'll need a vine!" He turned imperiously to the others. "Ladies! Mr. Howell! Get us a vine from the edge of the jungle! Hurry!"

For a moment the Skipper hesitated, but seeing the others hurrying towards the jungle and feeling his own feet slipping on the treacherous slope, he grasped the Professor's hand and allowed himself to be hauled up. "Professor, if anything's happened to them, I'll never forgive myself!"

The Howells and Ginger came rushing back trailing a long length of vine. "Here!" Ginger gasped. "Are they all right?"

They looked over the cliffside again and Mrs. Howell clutched her parasol in delight. "Thurston! Look, darling!"

"Thank heavens," whispered the millionaire, and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

The Lord Admiral was beside himself with joy. "Huzzah, lad! That's the spirit!"

The two dust covered figures on the sand were finally stirring. Gilligan had curled himself over Mary Ann to protect her from the onslaught of stones and debris. When the dust stopped he sat up, coughing and rubbing his head, all the ferocity jarred out of him. "Boy! The Lord Admiral was right – swordfighting is tougher than it looks!" Then leaning over, he gently shook Mary Ann's shoulders. "Mary Ann! Mary Ann, are you all right?"

Mary Ann coughed and sputtered, wiping grime from her face. "I – I think so, Gilligan."

Mary and Gilligan looked around. They had landed in the narrow cul-de sac at the base of the ridge, fronted by the lapping water of the bay. To their right the sand was heaped into several large mounds. Gilligan momentarily frowned at them, trying to remember when he'd seen something like them before. The cutlass, dropped during their mad tumble, had landed at Gilligan's feet.

Gilligan struggled to those feet and drew Mary Ann up to him. They looked up and waved weakly to their friends. "Hey! Everybody! We're all right!"

"Hang on, little buddy! We'll get you out of there!"

The Skipper and Professor had begun to pay down the vine when Ginger suddenly shrieked. "Oh, my God! Those two logs! They're moving!"

It was true. The two immense and seemingly inert tree trunks that had been floating in the water were now speeding in a swift, determined line towards the shore where Gilligan and Mary Ann stood. In moments they hove into the breakers like landing craft on D-Day, and onto the sand swung two gigantic crocodiles, jaws gaping.

Instinctively Gilligan thrust Mary Ann behind him and snatched up the cutlass.

"Oh, brother!" he moaned. "I can't do anything right! Even when I lie I tell the truth!"

The skipper was about to tear his hat in half. "Professor, whose nightmare am I in? How can they really be crocodiles? And how could any crocodile be that big! That one must weigh a ton! He must be over twenty feet long! And the other one's not much smaller!"

The Professor shook his head in horror. "They're salt-water crocodiles, Skipper. The biggest reptiles in the world. And—oh, Gilligan! Mary Ann!"

"And?"

"And they're known to be maneaters!"

Gilligan had already guessed that. The crocodiles were impossibly big, their jaws able to swallow a man to the chest with one bite. As the great beasts undulated forwards Gilligan backed up slowly, shielding Mary Ann with his own body. "Mary Ann, I just realized something!"

"W-w-what?"

"Pirates aren't so scary anymore!"

"G-Gilligan!"

The Lord Admiral stood braced to vanish. "Dear God! Courage, lad! I'm coming!"

"Lord Admiral, sir! I calls for a truce!"

The Lord Admiral whirled on the pirate, who had lowered his sword. "_Most_ kind. I'll not leave you waiting long!"

"Knave I may be, aye, but ye're a fool! What do ye think ye can do against them sea devils? Our ghostly weapons can't harm mortal flesh, man or beast!"

The Lord Admiral looked at his rapier in helpless anguish, then back to the pair below.

"And besides—t'is our chance to be whole again."

The Lord Admiral stared, not believing he'd heard right. "What? What treachery's this?"

"No trick, milord. I speak o' the old savage's curse. He said our spirits would sleep 'til some living lubber chanced on our effects. But if that lubber died, we spirits would be flesh and blood again." The pirate grinned, his one eye narrowing. "Think of it, milord. A chance to live again! Ye and I could sail the seas o' this new world together, and take treasure beyond our dreams! What say ye?"

The Lord Admiral shook his head slowly, as if in a nightmare. "I'd not join you for any price – and I'd not want my life at the price of his! Have at you, you _coward!_" And forgetting his own rule, he launched himself furiously at the leering buccaneer, blows flying with supernatural speed.

Gilligan could hear his shipmates shouting at him from the edge of the cliff and Scallion's laughter beyond, but it all seemed a far-away buzz as he watched the terrible creatures stalking towards him. They were three times his size. Dinosaurs.

Gilligan heard himself babbling, "Ah, come on, fellas! Captain Hook is up topside! Why don't you go eat him?"

Suddenly he felt his back collide with Mary Ann and felt her clutch him, whimpering in terror. They had reached the inner edge of the cul-de-sac. "Gilligan! We're trapped!"

There was no way they could both escape alive. Holding the cutlass in both hands, Gilligan raised it above his head, heart hammering. "Listen to me, Mary Ann. Listen really carefully. I'm going to charge the big one. When I do, you sneak around and you run as fast as you can!"

"No, Gilligan!"

"Mary Ann, _listen!_"

"_I'm not leaving you!_"

"The Sight, lad!" The Lord Admiral's voice rang out like a ship's bell in a storm. "For pity's sake!"

"_The power to see ghosts__, soothe savage beasts…"_ The crocodiles were so close now that the dying sunlight, glinting off their iridescent armour, shone on their individual scales. The big male's jaws gaped like a cave's mouth.

Gilligan made his choice. "Okay, Mary Ann. I've got another idea. But stay back. No matter what happens, stay back!"

Up above, the Lord Admiral and Scallion were locked, hilt to hilt, when Scallion looked down. Suddenly his eye widened and his mouth twisted into a disbelieving snarl. "By thunder - what's the pup after doing?"

For Gilligan had swept his arm backwards and now pitched the cutlass high, high into the air. It spun end over end, catching the light, until it hit the shimmering waves and vanished.

_"No!" _Scallion roared.

The remaining castaways were watching in disbelief. The Skipper and Professor, already frantically paying the vine rope down, were momentarily frozen. "Professor! What's my little buddy done? He's thrown away his only weapon!"

"It's of no use to him, Skipper. He couldn't fight those creatures off single-handed, even with a weapon."

"You mean he's given up?"

"I don't know. I only hope there's method in his madness!"

Down below, Gilligan went down on one knee and held out his hand to the monsters. Behind him Mary Ann was flattened against the rocks, not daring to breathe.

Gilligan knew this would only work if he were not afraid. He remembered his words to the Skipper from long ago: _I understand animals and get along with them. You have to think like them. _ He took a long, slow breath, calmed his mind, and stared deep, deep into the cold, glittering, gold-flecked eyes.

The crocodiles had reached him. A massive head swung before him, hot breath blasting in his face. Gilligan did not move. "Hey, we don't want to hurt you," he murmured. "We don't want to invade your home or anything. We fell down here by accident. We're your friends."

At the sound of his voice the great beasts blinked and stood with heads swaying slightly, as though puzzled. Gilligan glanced beyond the second one's nose and again saw the sand mounds by the rocks. He suddenly remembered where he'd seen mounds like them before, only smaller… when the great sea turtles had come ashore and lay scooping mounds of sand with their mighty flippers. They were trying to bury their…

Gilligan's voice rang with authority. "Mary Ann! Move away from the sand mounds! Hurry!"

"G-Gilligan..."

"Do as I say!"

Mary Ann swallowed and began to inch her way slowly, hugging the rock face.

Gilligan remained motionless. The crocodiles watched Mary Ann creeping away, but made no move to stop her. "So that's what it was!" Gilligan said, half to himself, half to the creatures. "Those mounds are full of your eggs. You were just protecting your young!"

The male's jaws had slowly closed; the tip of its nose was now resting near Gilligan's bended knee. The cold, terrible eyes narrowed and the throat softly rumbled. Gilligan reached out and gently, reverently, laid his hand upon the hard snout. "It's all right," he murmured. "They'll be okay. You can go now."

The first mate and the monstrous reptiles remained in that strange tableau for a momentary eternity. Then the crocodiles' heads swung 'round as the great beasts began to crawl back towards the sea.

Still pressed to the rock, Mary Ann whispered, "Shalt thou draw out Leviathan with an hook? Will he speak soft words unto thee? Lay thy hand upon him, do no more…"

By this point the Professor and Skipper were so rapt they had forgotten about the vine altogether. "My gosh," the Skipper murmured. "Have you got a scientific explanation for that, Professor?"

The Professor shook his head, awe-struck. "If I hadn't seen it, I'd never have believed it! Come on, Skipper, let's get you down to them!"

Even Scallion was spellbound by now. "The swab's do-lally!" he cried. "He's made a deal with the Devil!"

"Balderdash!" crowed the Lord Admiral. "He's a Gilligan! He's my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, and as true as the blood that was bred on McGilligan's Strand!" He broke off the hilt-lock with Scallion, laughing. "And damn me for a Dutchman if he ain't rescued his damsel without my lifting a finger – and found the bit of the curse you kindly failed to tell me!"

"What d'ye mean?"

"You never were a man of much substance, Scallion. But now you've nearly none at all!"

The pirate looked down at his spectral body and cursed. He was beginning to fade into mist, as though not of his own volition.

"When the lad threw your cutlass in the sea, you knew your ship was scuttled! The old savage said we'd be earthbound until some living soul found our effects – but if he tossed them into the sea, we'd go to our final reward – whatever that may be! Well, what do you say to that, _Captain _Tom Scallion?"

The pirate's teeth were clenched in fury. "I'll lay me own curse on ye, Lord Admiral! May your cursed breed rot on this rock forever! May he live to wish the beasts had eat his heart out! May he die an old man here, and alone!"

The Lord Admiral smiled. "An old man he may be, aye. But not alone. Smooth sailing, Captain. I daresay even the tropic isles will be cool compared to where you're going!"

Whatever Scallion wanted to say, he no longer had the voice to do it. With a soundless howl he whipped and vanished like the blown-out flame of a candle.

The Lord Admiral sighed deeply, sheathing his sword. He strode over towards the fallen canopy and peered about the grass until he spotted the wilted telescope. "And now for my own repose," he murmured.

Mary Ann pushed herself from the rock wall and stumbled forward. She dropped to her knees in the sand beside Gilligan, who was calmly watching the crocodiles propel themselves back into the breakers. Weak with relief, she sighed and leaned against his shoulder. For a few moments they sat in silence, until finally Gilligan spoke.

"Are you okay, Mary Ann?"

She looked up at him, her face filled with wonder. Her voice was a whisper. "Gilligan, how did you do that? That…that was a miracle!"

He turned and looked into her eyes. "Mary Ann, I told you I'd never let anything hurt you. Never."

For a moment Mary Ann didn't move. Then she began to lean towards him and--

"LITTLE BUDDY! MARY ANN! Thank goodness!"

The two jumped, but barely had time to register the Skipper's presence before they were both scooped up like a pair of rag dolls. Their four feet kicked at empty air as the Skipper hoisted them in his powerful arms. Then in his joy he began to dance around, whirling them like a merry-go-round. "Little buddy, you were wonderful! We saw it all!"

"Surely not all," quipped another voice, "or you'd have let them alone for a moment more! You great mooncalf!"

From where he was spinning in mid-air, Gilligan glimpsed the luminous form of the Lord Admiral, shaking a fist in frustration. "Blast it! Has no one on this isle any sense of occasion?" But the phantom couldn't stay angry in the face of such joy. He rested his hand on his sword hilt, ghostly eyes twinkling. "Ah, well, never fear," he called. "You and the little milkmaid have all the time in the world. But your shipmate's right on one account. You were wonderful. Well done, my boy. Bloody well done!"

"Thanks Lor—I mean Skipper!" Gilligan laughed, trying to draw breath. "Skipper, we're really glad to see you too, but could you please put us down? I don't know if Mary Ann's getting dizzy, but I sure am!"

The Skipper was actually holding Mary Ann as gently as if she were made of fine china, but he set them both down at once. "Oh! Sorry, Mary Ann. Are you all right?"

She laughed, pushing her hair back from her eyes. "I'm fine, Skipper. We're both fine!"

"Oh, that's wonderful! And you, Gilligan—" he took Gilligan by the shoulders and nearly shook him, "don't you _ever_ scare me like that again! You took about twenty years off of me!"

"And about two hundred from me," added the Lord Admiral, wiping his ghostly brow.

"He saved my life again, Skipper! Did you ever see anything like it? He wasn't even afraid of them!"

"That's not true, Mary Ann. I was pretty scared for awhile there." Gilligan shrugged, smiling. "But what's that old saying? There's nothing to fear but fear itself?"

"Ep – " The Skipper decided to risk it. "And—what about your pirate ghost, little buddy?"

Gilligan stole a quick glance at the Lord Admiral, who shook his head. "Gone, lad. Gone for good."

He turned back to the Skipper. "He's gone for good, Skipper. But I couldn't have done it alone."

The Skipper's grin lit up the twilight like a harvest moon. "You're never alone, little buddy. Come on, you two, I've got a rope over there. Let's get you two back up to the others and back to camp."

The Lord Admiral nodded at Gilligan. "Go on, lad. You take the high road – I'll take the low. I'll meet you topside."


	16. Chapter 16

A short while later the Lord Admiral watched smiling from the sidelines as hugs, pats on the back and congratulations greeted the two youngest castaways. The Professor shook Gilligan's hand so hard it nearly came off. "Gilligan, Gilligan, you're incredible. You confound my scientific training every time you turn around! Charles Darwin must be turning over in his grave!"

Gilligan shrugged shyly, flexing his sore fingers. "Oh – well, don't worry, Professor. Ginger's exorcism probably got rid of him too!"

Mrs. Howell and Ginger hugged Mary Ann tightly. "Oh! I thought the two of you were done for!" Ginger cried.

"Yes, my dear! We were quite distraught!" said Mrs. Howell. "Thank goodness I had my smelling salts in my bag. They're the only thing for fainting spells." She glanced over at her husband. "Are you sure you're quite all right now, Thurston dear?"

But Thurston Howell wasn't listening; he was clapping Gilligan on the shoulder as though he meant to knock him over. "My boy! There's a fortune to be made! It's the big top for us!"

Gilligan blinked, trying to steady himself. "Big top? Top of what?"

"The circus, my boy! Gilligan, lion-tamer and crocodile charmer! We'll play to packed houses all over the world! London, Paris, Hong Kong!"

Gilligan held up his hands in mock-protest. "Slow down, Mr. Howell! I'm pretty sure they just weren't hungry. I don't think your star act would last very long!"

The Skipper threw his arm around Gilligan's shoulders. "And neither would I. No circus, Howell, and no dangerous animals. That's final!"

Mr. Howell shook his head. "And where would P.T. Barnum have gotten with an attitude like that? I mean really!" But he smiled fondly and laughed, clapping Gilligan on the shoulder again.

When the group had finally gathered their gear and turned to leave, Gilligan caught sight of the Lord Admiral, almost forgotten in the hullabaloo. "A moment of your time, lad. Make some excuse to drop anchor for a few minutes. I need to ask you something."

"Oh! Oh, uh- Skipper?"

"Yes, little buddy?"

"You start back with the others. I'm gonna stay here for a little. I…uh…" and inspiration struck him. "I want to give thanks for the miracle."

"Oh." The Skipper was momentarily taken aback, and looked to whether the others were waiting, puzzled, by the trees. "Well, I don't like to leave you alone, little buddy, but I won't stand between a man and his Almighty. Especially not after what I just saw. Well – promise you won't be too long, all right? We won't go too far."

"I promise, Skipper. See you in a minute."

Gilligan turned back to the Lord Admiral as the Skipper, murmuring quietly to the others' questions, took the torch from the Professor and led them into the jungle. Alone, the two Gilligans, one in a rugby shirt and jeans and the other in full dress and braid, stood facing each other.

"I wasn't kidding. This whole thing's been a miracle. I can't tell them, though, can I? They'll never understand."

"No, they won't, bless them. But let it pass. You and I know, and that's enough." "Yeah." The first mate looked around. "So, what'd you want to ask me? And what happened to Tom Scallion? Where'd he go?"

"To his reward, lad, and a warm one, I hope. You cracked the curse: Scallion flew apart like sea spray when you flung his cursed cutlass in yon bay. And that's how you can free me, too."

"Free you?"

The Lord Admiral pointed with a booted toe at an object lying in the grass: the one object they'd forgotten to collect.

"My telescope, lad. It's the one thing that binds me to this earth. The old witchdoctor said that Scallion and I would be bound until some brave soul flung our possessions in the sea. It's been a grand adventure and I'd not have missed it, but this world is yours, not mine. T'is time for me to go."

It was a moment before Gilligan realized what his ancestor meant. The first mate slumped, swallowing hard. Everything was happening too fast – much too fast. "You-you mean…"

"You've folk waiting for you. So have I. My wife and son." The blue eyes were pleading now. "You have your future now. Give me my past. Let me go home."

Gilligan swallowed again. "Believe me, Lord Admiral, I sure understand but…but…oh, Lord Admiral, sir…what am gonna do without you?"

"What you just did, lad. You don't need me anymore. You'll be fine."

"I guess, but…I'm really gonna miss you. How'll I ever thank you for everything you've done?"

"Thank me? Good heavens, sir, it's I that am in your eternal debt! And I do mean eternal!"

That brought a brief, if sad smile. "Won't I ever see you again?"

The Lord Admiral shrugged slightly, lifting his eyebrows, and the ever present grin stole back to his pale face. "If you ever find another of my effects, well…who can say? You said it yourself: anything can happen here."

Gilligan took heart. He picked up the telescope and with just a moment's hesitation, flung it over the cliff towards the creaming breakers. The Lord Admiral watched it go, then straightened and snapped his hand to his forehead in a smart salute.

"God be with you, William Francis Gilligan. You're the best of us all."

Gilligan saluted in return, then took a deep breath and turned, heading for the jungle. Just before he reached it, he met the other castaways coming back. "Come along, Gilligan, dear," said Mrs. Howell. "This night air isn't good for you. If you stay out here too long you may come down with the Vertigo syndrome again."

"Lovey, that's indigo," said her husband, looking a little confused.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Thurston. "Indigo is a shade of blue. Vertigo is what you get when you fall from a cliff. Gilligan just did that."

"Yes, but—" Mr. Howell gave up. "Oh. Whatever you say, my dear."

"Come on, Gilligan," urged Mary Ann. "He'll hear you back at camp, too. Come back with us. I'll stay up with you, if you like."

Gilligan looked at her for a moment, then smiled and joined them. As they reached the trees a faint voice called after, "Oh brave new world, that hath such people in it! I leave you in good hands, lad. Farewell." Gilligan turned back, but the clearing was deserted.

The ghost was gone.

Gilligan gulped and heaved a sharp, heartfelt sigh. Instantly the Skipper's arm was around his shoulders. "What's the matter, little buddy? That other ghost – the Lord Admiral. You don't see him, do you?"

Gilligan smiled sadly. "No, Skipper. Not anymore." Then, with a sudden thought, he brightened. "Say, Skipper, have I ever told you about the guy I'm named after?"

"Wh-no, I don't think so."

"Come on. I'll tell you as we walk back." As the two men turned and headed into the torchlit aisles of trees, Gilligan's fading voice was saying, "He was a great captain, Skipper, just like you. He had a big family and lived to a ripe old age. He lost his father when he was just a little boy, but they met again one day…"

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_One more chapter to go!__! Thank you, all you shipmates who've stayed aboard for the long voyage!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Epilogue_

A brilliant sun in a dazzling blue sky shimmered on the waves that hit the reef with a constant crashing boom. Within the shelter of the reef the water was tame enough for swimming, and four figures bobbed up and down, jumping the whitecaps as they dove for a pie plate frisbee. Gilligan, the first to grab it, turned and made ready to aim.

The Professor, waving amid the undulating water, saw Ginger plashing towards him like a red-haired shark. "Hurry, Gilligan! Increase your trajectory!"

"What?"

"Aim higher!"

"Oh!" Gilligan whirled the pie plate high over the water. It arced upward and came sailing 'round, almost straight into the Professor's hands. Almost-- because as he shot up to catch it, Ginger lunged at him and dragged him under. A few seconds later they surfaced, Ginger brandishing the pie plate in triumph.

"Good work, Ginger! We win! Ack!" Mary Ann yelped as water crashed over her head, leaving her pigtails dripping. "Gilligan!"

"It wasn't me, Mary Ann! It was a wave! Honest!"

The Professor, meanwhile, was sputtering and laughing. "I call foul! You girls did not win! That was thoroughly unethical! Gilligan and I can't tackle you!"

"We can splash, though!" cried Gilligan, and Mary Ann got drenched again.

"Oh! Gilligan!" She turned and bobbed after him as fast as her short frame would allow. The Professor, meanwhile, was trying to snatch the pie plate from Ginger, who was waving it tantalizingly out of reach.

"Ha ha! Chase me, Professor! I love to have handsome men chase me!"

On shore, the Howells were seated under the gently billowing palm fronds, bamboo tumblers of cold fruit punch in hand. Beside them the radio announced, "And that wraps up our report from the New York Stock Exchange." Thurston shook his head. "Look at them out there, Lovey. Haven't a care in the world!"

Mrs. Howell smiled. "They certainly are enjoying themselves, darling."

"And A T & T down two points! I mean really!"

"Well, darling, it's just the romance of the South Seas, you know. Don't you remember the first time we stayed in Hawaii?" She sighed, gazing out to where they sky met the sea. "The simple, rustic pleasures of the Honolulu Hilton?"

"Romance indeed. Place was positively overrun with Japanese tourists. You'd think we hadn't won the war!"

His wife carried on, accustomed to his outbursts. "Strolling along the beachfront in front of the hotel in the evening, with the tiki torches lit, and Diamond Head outlined against the sunset?"

Howell harumphed a little less forcefully. "Hmmph. For a volcano, it does have an awfully romantic name."

"It was an awfully romantic time, Thurston. You didn't listen to the stock market report for the whole week."

Howell sat up, affronted. "What? Surely you jest, Lovey! A Howell guilty of such indolence! Such decadence! Impossible! Nothing could ever bewitch a Howell to that degree!"

He looked over at his wife, her blue eyes the colour of the dancing sea, and smiling, squeezed her hand. "Well...almost nothing." He reached over, turned the radio off, and kissed her.

The Skipper appeared from a grove of palms carrying a large crate which he set in a shady spot near the Howells. Moments later, he was back with another one. When he brought a third, Howell looked at him quizzically. "I say, Captain, why aren't you out there frolicking with the young folk? Since when does a man of your rank stoop to mess detail?"

The Skipper grinned, wiping his brow with his arm. "I'll go in later, Mr. Howell. First I had to make sure this was here - and hidden." And he reached into one of the crates to pull out a football sized object swathed in palm leaves.

The wealthy couple leaned forward. Mrs. Howell peered through her lorgnette. "Oh, Captain, is that it? The present?"

"It sure is, Mrs. Howell. Boy, will Gilligan be surprised when he sees this!"

"By Jove, Captain, you've kept us on pins and needles for days now. What's the mystery? What's in that peculiar package?"

"You'll see in a few minutes, Mr. Howell. My little buddy finally seems to be over that pirate business, so I thought this would be the perfect chance to give it to him!"

At the sound of splashing and approaching laughter, Mrs. Howell glanced towards the water. "Oh, quickly, Captain, put it away. Here they come!"

Stumbling through the foaming breakers, Gilligan, the Professor, Ginger and Mary Ann emerged from the sea and trotted up the sand to where their towels lay. As they dried off, Ginger toweled the ends of her red hair. "I wish Hollywood could have seen this. Just call me Esther Williams!"

Gilligan had to agree. "You sure swam good, Ginger. You too, Mary Ann. You looked like a milkmaid!" He broke off at her quizzical look. "Uh...I mean a mermaid."

Mary Ann shook her head and smiled. "Come on, Ginger. Let's get the luau started."

The Professor finished toweling off and turned to Gilligan. "I'll get a fire started for the fish. Where'd you put the firewood, Gilligan?"

"Oh, it's over there, just under the palmetto bush, Professor."

"Fine." The Professor smiled. "You relax then, Gilligan. You've earned it."

Gilligan was perfectly happy to follow these orders. He scooped up a coconut cup and ensconced himself in a wickerwork lounge chair just as the Skipper came up. Leaning back and fanning himself with a palm leaf, Gilligan smiled up at his big buddy. "Skipper...tell me again why we want to get rescued from this island?"

The Skipper looked back and eyed the bathing suited Mary Ann and Ginger, running back and forth between a cache of cooling fruits and the makeshift buffet table. "I gotta admit, little buddy...sometimes I wonder about that myself!"

Gilligan saw where he was looking and snorted. "You'd better go in for a dip soon, Skipper. I think your sailor's blood's overheating!"

The Skipper sputtered and choked, then laughed his great, hearty laugh, the sweetest sound Gilligan knew. All at once the big man lunged down and effortlessly tipped Gilligan over, chair and all. Gilligan yelped to find himself sprawled in the sand, sans drink and fan, with the Skipper guffawing over him. "Ha ha! That's what insubordination'll get you, Gilligan! Ha ha ha! Come on, let's head for the luau, before it's all gone." He seized his surprised first mate by the arm and hauled him to his feet with the remarkable gentleness of a strong man who truly does know his own strength. "Weigh anchor, there, little buddy!"

"Aye aye, Skipper," Gilligan smiled.

Between the grilled fish, fruit and lots of punch sweetened with some of Mr. Howell's rum cache, the luau lasted until the swiftly falling tropical sunset. The castaways gathered around the fire as the huge expanse of sky, swathed in pink and gold, faded to deep blue. One by one, stars began to twinkle in the great depths.

The Skipper stood up ceremonially. "Now that's what I've been waiting for. We needed a star to get the right effect."

The Professor raised his cup to Ginger. "Well, we've already got one, Skipper, but I guess Ginger isn't the kind of star you mean."

Everyone laughed, and Ginger toasted the Professor in return. "Ha, ha, ha, very good, Professor. But what I mean is, I need the stars in the sky to help demonstrate Gilligan's present."

"Present?" Gilligan was flabbergasted. "Skipper, it isn't my birthday! And it can't be my anniversary because I'm not married!"

"I found this a few days ago, Gilligan, and right away I thought of you. Now wait there just a minute." He turned and strode back towards the remains of the buffet, while the others quizzed each other about what it could be.

In a few seconds the Skipper was back with the leafy bundle. "Here you are, little buddy. It's something no sailor should be without."

"Gee, thanks, Skipper!" Gilligan unwrapped it eagerly, the others leaning in for a good view. When the object emerged, everyone gasped in awe.

The instrument Gilligan was holding gleamed in the firelight. It was some kind of brass instrument that looked almost like a huge mathematical compass with an arcing band of metal connecting its feet. A small tube, like a miniature telescope, was affixed near the top.

"Skipper - what on earth is that?" said Mary Ann.

"Looks like something off a ship!" said Ginger. "Is that from the Minnow?"

The Professor shook his head, amazed. "The Minnow never had one of those. What a fantastic find, Skipper!"

Gilligan turned it over and over, mesmerized by the firelight glinting on the polished metal. "Wow...it's beautiful, Skipper. What is it?"

The Skipper beamed. "This is a sextant, little buddy. Hundreds of years ago sailors used them to help navigate. You'd line it up with the horizon and figure out your longitude and latitude by the position of the stars."

"We could determine our position with it, Skipper!" exclaimed the Professor.

"Already did, last night. Give it a try, Gilligan. Look through the eyepiece and line up the horizon...then find the north star."

Gilligan peered through the eyepiece and fiddled with one of the knobs. "OK...got it. What now, Skipper?"

"Well, I'll show you how to do the calculations later Gilligan, but I figure we're 140 degrees longitude and 10 degrees latitude. That puts us about 350 miles southeast of Hawaii.

There was a general gasp of appreciation and Gilligan drew back to examine it again in delight.

Mr. Howell asked, "Amazing, Captain. Where on earth did you unearth it?"

"I didn't. It washed up on shore a few days ago, over by the cliffs, after the storm. It must have lain in the bottom of the sea for ages."

"It did," Gilligan whispered. He was staring intently at the sextant now, stroking the metal like a holy talisman.

When they turned at the wonder in his voice, he showed them the name engraved on the base. The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Hmmm. A British vessel. The H.M.S...Fortitude!"

"By Jove, that's a grand title. Sounds like a Man of War," said Howell.

"He sure was," Gilligan murmured softly.

"Gilligan, my boy, ships are normally referred to as "she."

"Mmmm? Oh...oh, yeah." But Gilligan didn't look at the millionaire; he seemed lost in wonder, staring at the instrument. Then he looked up at his Skipper. "Skipper...you don't know what this means to me. I....don't know how to thank you."

The Skipper smiled, embarrassed. "Well...I know this past week was pretty rough on you, Gilligan, but you sure came through with flying colours."

"I'll say," murmured Mary Ann.

"And I just wanted you to know that...well, that you're not alone. And you never will be."

The warm trade winds caressed Gilligan's face and sent the soft breakers bubbling up onto the beach. He looked around at the people who'd become as dear as his family back home. "Thanks, Skipper. Thanks, everybody. At least I know that the next time there's trouble.." and he smiled, looking at the sextant, "I'll have a ghost of a chance!"

_Finis_


End file.
